Phantom Pains
by Mayhem21
Summary: All Katie Jensen ever wanted was to help rebuild Chorus. Dick Simmons dreamed of the day he's finally comfortable with himself. When the surviving forces of Charon Industries finally lash out to take revenge, all that's left for Jensen and Simmons is the struggle to re-define what their new normal is going to be. REVERSE BIG BANG 2017. Art by Yami-Sama.
1. Chapter 1

_**This story was written for the Red vs Blue Reverse Big Bang event.**_

 _Major love to the wonderful artist Yami-Sama (find her on Tumblr!) for drawing the incredible art that inspired this story._

 _I'd also like to pass along a major thank-you to ScriptMedic, whose blog and books were invaluable to me in writing this story. Thanks, Aunt Scripty!_

* * *

"Alright, everyone, we'll leave the vehicles here and proceed on foot."

Jensen tightened her grip on her rifle as Sprinkles pulled their jeep to a stop neatly behind Captain Simmons and Captain Caboose. From behind, there was a soft _thud_ as the newest member of Simmons' Red Team Squad lept down from the mounted gun turret. Idella's red-trimmed armor seemed to glow under the hazy morning light filtering through the jungle canopy. Biting her lip, Jensen climbed out of the passenger's seat and cast a look around the clearing, hoping to find something to focus on besides the Federal Army soldier. Sure, they had a peace treaty and everything now, but it was still kind of awkward.

A few moments later, Smith pulled up beside them with the second half of the scouting team. Leaping out of the jeep, he hurriedly offered a crisp salute to their approaching captains. "Sirs, the team is standing by assembled, ready, uh, and waiting to deploy on your orders. Um. Sirs."

A faint snicker floated over the comms at Smith's stumbling pronouncement, either from Cornwallis or Rowntree. Idella cast a sharp look over at the Feds climbing out of the other jeep with an air of disapproval.

Fortunately, Captain Simmons intervened before anything else happened. "Thanks, Smith. Uh, at ease." Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "As you know, while we took down the _Staff of Charon_ and captured Malcolm Hargrove, a number of the pirates managed to escape and have been carrying out hit-and-run attacks on our own forces."

"Yeah, we know," Cornwallis drawled, fingers drummed nervously on grip of his Boltshot. "We went over all this back at the base. Did something change or-" He broke off for a moment. "Is there new intel about the pirates?" he asked with a new hint of anxiety.

"What? No, nothing changed," Captain Simmons hurried to reassure him.

"Yes, there is no new pirate school."

Everyone turned to stare at Caboose. The Blue armored soldier had been moping for weeks; Epsilon's death on the _Staff of Charon_ had inflicted a wound that was still healing.

Smith brightened visibly, somehow standing even straighter, and puffed out his chest. "Yes, sir! These pirates refuse to accept their defeat, and it's up to us to teach them the error of their ways!"

A bubble of laughter welled up inside her, and Jensen let out a soft giggle. "You always know just what Captain Caboose is trying to say," she teased.

And with that, the nervous tension that had been building up eased off.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Captain Simmons cleared his throat again. "Thank you, Caboose. For… that. In any case, I just wanted to review the situation so we're all on the same page. Anyways, we've gotten some intelligence that some of the pirates who escaped have managed to get their hands on something big. We… really aren't sure what, exactly. Our mission today is to investigate several sites to see if there is any pirate activity and to report back while other teams do the same in other parts of Chorus. We are _not_ here to engage the enemy. If we encounter any enemy forces, priority one is withdrawing and calling for backup."

"Do you think we're likely to find anyone?" Merrick Rowntree asked, staring up at Simmons. His rifle creaked slightly as somewhat pudgy hands clenched tight.

"Well, we got the sites that are the closest to Crash Site Bravo," Idella drawled. She jabbed an elbow into his arm and the soft _clang_ as their armor collided echoed through the clearing. "With our luck, I think we're almost guaranteed to find _someone_ who'll want to shoot at us. We're so good at making friends," she chuckled.

A faint, nervous titter ran through the soldiers gathered in the clearing.

"We're going to die," Rowntree whispered under his breath.

"Okay, let's get going," Captain Simmons quickly insisted. "We'll split by pairs once we're on-site. Smith, you go with Caboose. Rowntree, you're paired with Cornwallis. Jensen's with Volleyball - I mean, Sprinkles -, and that leaves me with, uh, Ruan."

"Ready to penetrate the enemy site, Captain!" Idella chirped.

Simmons twitched, fumbling his gun. "Right, uh, let's… head out," he stuttered, then quickly scurried away.

Idella glanced over at Jensen and Sprinkles. "Is it wrong to find that insanely cute?" she murmured.

"He's always been like that," Jensen giggled.

"Ask him about fighting the Meta sometime," Sprinkles sighed and fanned herself with an armored hand. "Oh my god, that story is hot. Make sure Captain Grif is there, too. The two of them together are just-" Breaking off, she pressed the tips of her fingers together and bounced them off the front of her helmet, pretending to kiss them.

"Jessica! Shh." Casting a quick look around, Jensen waved the other women forward. "Come on, we have to get going!"

The gossiping continued in whispered voices as the three women hurried to catch up with the others. Leaving the jeeps and the overgrown road behind, they forged through the rough jungle terrain, climbing over fallen trees and pushing low-hanging branches aside. Many of the leaves were still damp with morning dew and left streaks of moisture on their armor as they brushed past.

It wasn't long before they drew close to the target site. The first location they'd been assigned to investigate was an abandoned farm; the main house itself was mostly intact, as was the barn, but the other structures had long since fallen into ruin after over a decade of civil war.

Captain Simmons raised a hand, gesturing for everyone to stop. They huddled close, crouching down so that they were hidden by the wild underbrush.

"Alright," Simmons whispered over the comms, "this place may _look_ abandoned, but that's no reason to be sloppy. If we encounter any pirates, disengage and fall back into the jungle, then alert the rest of the team. We are _not_ here to engage. Smith, Cornwallis, take your teams around the farm and approach it from the sides. Be thorough, but _careful_."

"Yes, sir," Smith whispered back. The younger soldier reached out and grabbed Captain Caboose's shoulder, tugging him up and away from the team.

Cornwallis and Rowntree, meanwhile, quickly disappeared in the opposite direction after offering their own quiet affirmatives.

"What now, sir?" Jensen asked in a bright tone.

"We'll wait a short while," her captain replied as he peered back out onto the farm. "Give Smith and Cornwallis time to get in position."

There was a brief moment of silence, then Idella leaned forward.

"So Jensen and Sprinkles were telling me that you have some _great_ stories about all the adventures you and the other Reds and Blues went on before crashing on Chorus. Maybe you could tell us some of those stories while we wait!"

Simmons turned to stare at her, clearly startled.

The Federal Army soldier, meanwhile, stared back at him with puppy-like adoration that was evident even through her armor.

Reluctantly, Simmons started recounting the time he and the other had broken into Freelancer Command. Discomfort laced every word.

Biting back another laugh, Jensen listened with interest. Sprinkles suddenly nudged her side, just as a message alert icon appeared in her HUD.

 _Spr: This is better than that time Lily tricked Venkata into asking her on a date back before we joined the New Republic. Remember that?_

Oh, it was getting _really_ hard not to laugh. Pressing her lips together, Jensen replied through her own messaging system.

 _Jns: I remember you helped Lily trap Venkata in the backroom of the general store so he had nowhere to run!_

 _Spr: Good times_

 _Spr: Plans after the mission?_

 _Jns: Back on maintenance duty. Would still be stuck there if Cmd didn't need all possible hands for these mission_

 _Spr: ROMANTIC plans, omg_

 _Spr: Gonna give Palomo a shot or r u still crushing on Simmons?_

 _Spr: Totally understand that, btw. He is fiiiiine_

 _Jns: Jess!_

 _Spr: Come on, you raved about 'the mechanical properties of his customized prosthetics' for hooouuurs last week_

 _Jns: They're cool machines! Worth "raving" about. Totally custom parts with a higher degree of interoperability with his organic systems than anything on Chorus - or used by the UNSC_

Beside her, Sprinkles let out a soft, fake snore, and bobbed her head like she was falling asleep.

Unaware of the private conversation passing between the two women, Simmons started and paused mid-word. "Sorry, I, uh, know not everyone is as interested in computers as… Um…" His voice drifted off as he stared at Sprinkles.

 _Spr: Ooops_

When she saw the newest message, Jensen _really_ wanted to give Jess a smack. She'd made their captain doubt himself! He was… delicate… in a lot of ways. But, they were on a mission. And that came first.

"Captain Simmons, do you think we've given Smith and Cornwallis enough time?" she suggested.

"Oh, yes, we probably have." Springing to his feet, Simmons turned back to face the farm. "Alright, remember everything I told the others. Stealth and safety are the key. Let's move."

* * *

"Idella was right!" Sprinkles yelled as she dove to the ground. Splinters flew through the air as bullets ripped through the wooden support beam over her head. As she landed, Sprinkles twisted around and brought her rifle to bear on the enemy, firing off several controlled bursts.

The enemy fire sputtered to a halt and Jensen used the lull to grab her friend's arm and drag her behind a large horse stall.

"We definitely found people who want to shoot as us," Sprinkles groaned as the gunfire started back up. "But I don't think they want to be friends."

"We need a way out!" Jensen craned her neck and started staring around them, looking for something to help their escape.

"No luck with the comms?"

"They're jamming us somehow. I haven't been able to get ahold of _anyone_. We weren't affected in the jungle, though, so they must have turned it on after attacking," Jensen realized, then started considering what it would take to jam communications this thoroughly. Several thoughts ran through her head: power needs, effective range, equipment size. Then, her eyes fell on a heavy-duty metal ladder leaning against the upper deck of the barn. It was new, she realized, with no sign of dust or the wear everything else on the farm had. "Upstairs!" Jensen cried, pointing at the ladder. "They're doing something up there."

"Right." Without hesitation, Sprinkles pushed herself up off the ground and re-checked her weapon. "I'll cover you. On my mark. 3. 2. 1."

At the end of the count, the women sprang into action with a well-practiced maneuver.

Sprinkles rolled out into the middle of the barn, the pink highlights of her armor flashing as light hit her. The enemy faltered, confused. Which gave Sprinkles all the time she needed to start laying down cover fire.

Doing a countdown in her own head, Jensen sprang forward moments later and raced for the ladder. It groaned ominously as she clambered up, but miraculously, didn't buckle under the weight of her knock-off Mjolnir armor.

Below, Sprinkles kept up her attack. She darted in and out of cover, her weapon always trained on the enemy. The wooden stalls around her couldn't stop a bullet, but they did keep the enemy from knowing exactly where she was. The handful of pirates trying to kill them barely budged from their position in the doorway of the barn, disappearing long enough to reload their weapons out of sight of Sprinkles' deadly aim.

In a last ditch maneuver, Sprinkles dove out of cover once more. But instead of pausing to fire and then disappearing yet again, she raced forward, rushing the pirates and taking them by surprise. One managed to bring his weapon to bear on her before she took him down. The bullet ricocheted off the armor on her arm, leaving a noticeable dent before flying off into the barn.

Sprinkles stood dead still for a moment after the last body fell to the ground, then spun and dashed over to the ladder. "If there are more, they're probably on their way," she called out as she climbed up to the upper deck.

"Right. Um, this isn't the jamming equipment," Jensen responded in a slight daze as she stared at the machinery she'd found. Distantly, she was aware of Sprinkles stepping up beside her.

"Is that a fucking _missile?"_

"No wonder we found all those new support beams down below," Jensen breathed, still staring. "The launcher alone must weigh a ton."

"Oh, shit." Sprinkles hurried over until she was standing directly behind the mounted missile, then spent a few moments looking at it and referring to the map in her HUD. "Katie, this is pointed right at Bravo!"

"We have to disarm it." Pushing her nerves down, Katie hurried over and starting looking over the missile and the launcher, looking for access panels. Then, she pointed at the missile. "There, open up the missile. You work on getting the payload out while I disable the launcher. Worst case scenario, we can at least keep them being able to fire this thing."

"Fucking hell."

Jensen tore into the missile launcher while Sprinkles started to gingerly poke at the missile. She needed to disable the launcher so the pirates couldn't fix it, make sure it didn't explode, and talk Jess through removing the missile payload without setting it off. Easy, right?

As time passed, her breath got shorter and shorter, a wheeze building up in her throat. Stress always did this to her, Jensen reflected with slowly growing panic. Made her throat tight as it swelled and an ache settle in her chest. All the while, it got harder and harder to breath. She lived in terror of the day she actually _stopped_ breathing. Fortunately, she had plenty of practice working under stressful conditions. Rather than focus on the mucus building in her throat, Jensen kept her attention on the machine sitting in front of her and everything Jess was describing to her.

Finally, with Jensen's guidance, Sprinkles dug her way through the layers of armor, guidance hardware, and more to the actual payload buried deep in the missile.

"There's two things in here," Sprinkles reported. Her words were rushed and slightly higher pitched than usual. "One looks like, well, a bomb, and the other is - it's some kind of canister. Like an aerosol can or something." Pausing, she let out a string of curses. "Shit, Katie, I think it's a chemical weapon or something. What the _fuck_ do we do?"

Jensen froze, hands buried in a tangled web of wires. "Pull the canister," she ordered. "Pull it and get it out of here. We need to get it back to Dr. Grey."

Whimpering, Sprinkles obeyed and started undoing the latches and connectors attached to the canister. "Goddamn, I'm going to have to carry this thing, aren't I?" Taking a deep breath, she yanked it out.

A moment of silence passed. Neither woman moved. The canister sat inert in Sprinkles' hand.

"Oh, thank god."

Some of the tightness in Jensen's throat eased off and she returned to her sabotage. "Get that out of here, Jess," she ordered. "I'll be right behind you."

"You- shit, Katie. If I see any of the others, I'm sending them in after you," Sprinkles swore. Shifting the canister to her off hand, she drew her pistol and peered down to the ground below. "No sign of hostiles. Katie? Stay safe."

Jensen looked up for a moment, watched as her oldest, and closest, friend leapt off the platform. Heard the _thud_ as she landed down below. Then, with a flash of tan and pink, Jessica "Volleyball" Sprinkles raced out of the barn and disappeared.

New tension flooded the upper deck of the barn as Jensen took a moment to come to terms with being _completely alone_. Outside, she could hear the distant sound of gunfire, but it was too distinct to make out where exactly it was coming from, or who was doing most of the shooting.

Gasping, she forced air through her swollen throat and returned her attention to the launcher. She was almost done. She's swapped wires, broken components, and trashed the control boards. It was already starting to overheat as power went to all the wrong places. Pulling her hands free, she rose, ready to race after Jess… then hesitated.

Jess had the chemical weapon, or whatever it was. But there was still an explosive in the missile. If someone got in here before the launcher had a meltdown, it was just possible they could salvage the missile.

She whimpered. "Captain Simmons wouldn't like this one bit."

Instead of running, she leaned over the open panel on the missile and plunged her hand inside, groping for the explosive. Without this, the missile was just a hunk of metal and wires. After a moment of searching, she found the device and grabbed it. Just as she started to pull it free, however, fresh gunfire sounded down below. A loud scream rent the air as a black-armored body flew backwards into the barn. Smoke poured out of several bullet sounds in the pirate's chest.

On the upper deck, Jensen let out a startled, strangled scream. Inside the missile, her hand jerked, yanking the explosive free of its housing and slamming it against the interior of the missile.

"Jensen!"

"Capta-"

The explosive erupted with an ear shattering roar. For a brief moment, fire raced up Jensen's hand and arm. Then, she was flying backwards, propelled by the force of the explosion. She soared through the air, clearing the upper deck, then falling in a perfect arc towards the ground.

Darkness crept into her vision, slowly filling her sight.

She was falling so… slowly…

The arm that had been buried in the missile floated into view.

That wasn't right-

Everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

A horrified scream ripped its way out of Simmons' throat as Jensen's body slammed into the dirt floor of the rundown barn. Her limbs flopped lifelessly at her sides.

Terrified, Simmons raced to her side. Her heart was still beating, she was _still alive_ according to the bio-readout in his HUD, but she was crashing fast. When he dropped down next to her, he saw why.

Her arm was _gone_.

The jagged ends of her radius and ulna poked out of the remains of her right arm and blood was gushing out of the traumatically amputated end.

A fresh layer of panic filled Simmons' mind, increasing the agitation that had filled him when Volleyball had raced past him, shouting that Jensen was alone in the barn with a _bomb_.

First aid. He needed to do first aid.

Grabbing his medkit, Simmons ripped out the biofoam canister and shoved it into the shattered remnants of Jensen's arm, jabbing the deploy button with his thumb. Biofoam felt like being stabbed with a thousand shards of broken glass, like being swarmed by fire ants.

Jensen barely twitched.

The foam did its job, though, and stopped the bleeding. For now.

Next, he grabbed the thick black tourniquet out of the medkit. The foam would only last for an hour, possibly less given how… little there was for it to hold onto. Ripping off the armor plates covering Jensen's upper limb, Simmons wrapped the strap around her arm above the elbow, clicked the buckle closed, then pulled it taut with the torsion stick. Meanwhile, Simmons' HUD notified him that her onboard medical suite was deploying pain medication.

Footsteps suddenly sounded outside, approaching swiftly. Snarling, Simmons grabbed his rifle and leveled it at the barn door.

"Captain!" Smith yelled as he raced into the barn.

"Get in here!" Simmons shouted, turning his attention back to Jensen and swinging his rifle back up onto his back. He couldn't lose her, not after everything that had happened to them… not after everything that had just happened _today_.

"Rowntree managed to capture one of the pirates," Smith exclaimed as he burst into the barn. "Captain Caboose is standing guard. Rowntree took several shots to the chest, though. I stabilized him as best I could but, I- I don't think he's going to make it."

The young soldier skidded to a sudden halt when he spotted Jensen. "Is she- oh, god, no," he whispered.

"She's stable for now," Simmons snapped, "but we need to get her to Dr. Grey as soon as possible. Volleyball was heading back to base with the chemical weapon they found, so that only leaves us with two jeeps." Desperate, he stared up at Smith. "If I take Jensen on ahead, can you get everyone back to the clearing and either evac or hold that position until the next transportation arrives?"

"I- I-" Stuttering, Smith forced himself to take a deep breath. "At the moment, there's only one hostile: the prisoner. Captain Caboose and I should be able to keep him under control. Cornwallis is dead, though, and I don't think Rowntree will last fifteen minutes, let alone the drive back to base. What about Ruan, sir? Is she…"

"Dead." Simmons closed his eyes for a moment, the memory of that bright young woman throwing herself in front of him as the pirates leapt out of hiding. She'd gone down fast, determined to the end to make sure he lived.

He wasn't worth that kind of devotion. It would have been better if _he'd_ been the one getting shot; Idella Ruan had had a bright future ahead of her. Dying like she had - it wasn't _fair_.

They didn't have time to worry about the dead, though, not when the living were in so much danger.

"I'll take Jensen back to base. You and Caboose gather up the- the other's bodies and bring them to the clearing where we left the jeeps. Have the prisoner carry one of them; that should keep him out of trouble. If you can, return to base. Otherwise, hold your position until backup arrives. I'll radio ahead as soon as I'm clear of the jammers. You shouldn't have to wait long."

"Yes, sir," Smith whispered.

"Help me get Jensen up. We'll have to pray her armor protected her spine and neck because we don't have time to go get a stretcher." Shuddering slightly, Simmons rolled Jensen onto her stomach and rose to his feet. Smith hurried over to help.

Between the two of them, they got Jensen slung over Simmons' shoulders in a fireman's carry without jostling her wounded arm, which now dangled behind Simmons' back.

"We'll be waiting for pickup," Smith confirmed, giving him an aborted salute. "Good luck, sir. If anyone can get her to Dr. Grey, it's you."

"God, I hope so," Simmons whispered.

* * *

The downside to Simmons' plan to try and save Jensen was that he was alone with his thoughts as he raced through the jungle towards the waiting jeep. He ran as smoothly as he could, but he could feel how much Jensen was being jostled on his shoulders. Her wounded limb flopped lifelessly at his back. At least she wasn't hurting; the pain medications her medical suite was dispensing kept her blissfully unaware.

How had everything gone so wrong so fast?

Just a few hours earlier, Kimball had wished him luck with what they'd both thought would be an easy assignment. A simple in and out. A quick survey of a site that was low on the list of likely pirate strongholds. A mission focused on helping the new members to Simmons' Red Team Squad and Caboose's Blue Team Squad get to know their new commanding officers.

Every single one of those newcomers was now dead.

Jensen had gotten blown up.

It was all his fault.

He tried to focus solely on running, on getting to the jeep as fast a possible, but a parade of all his past failures kept running through his mind.

He done so terribly at his first school that his parents had sent him away to a military boarding school. There, he'd been unable to stand up for himself against the bullies and nasty RAs until all he could bring himself to do was meekly follow whatever insane order they'd barked at him. His academic standing had constantly teetered on the edge of ruin as he failed end-of-semester finals over and over and over again. He'd crumbled in the face of his college placement exams, then ran to enlist in the military to avoid having to move back in with his parents and try again the next year.

His actual military career was a joke. He'd been the odd-man-out during all of boot camp, too smart to fit in with his fellow enlistees and too weak to do much more than flail helplessly during drills. If the UNSC hadn't needed warm bodies to throw against the enemy, he'd never have graduated boot camp. Afterwards, he'd been shuffled from unit to unit, never fitting in with his fellow soldiers, and only annoying and irritating his commanding officers. He'd been so useless, the UNSC eventually decided he couldn't be trusted to successfully catch a bullet on the battlefield and save another, better, soldier. He'd been shuffled off to Project Freelancer with the expectation that dying as cannon fodder for an out-of-control military-funded research program was the best he could achieve out of life.

And what had actually happened as one of Project Freelancer's simulation soldiers? He'd been shoved into a box canyon for over a year, then shuffled to another simulation base where he'd faced a mutinous firing squad. That mess had landed him in another remote simulation and attacked by enraged, bloodthirsty Freelancers. He'd been dragged along behind the Blues chasing after seemingly endless Blue Team Problems where his most notable achievement was _not dying_.

After crashing on Chorus, he hadn't managed to help during the months they'd been marooned, and had been so useless with the New Republic that Kimball considered _Grif_ Tucker's second-in-command. His greatest achievement in Armonia had been fucking _spreadsheets_ to organize their supplies; no one had cared or appreciated his work, and it had all been for nothing once Charon attacked the capital city and Doyle sacrificed himself to save them all.

His latest achievement? Getting three people killed and another grievously wounded while carrying out a plush, easy assignment.

 _Go him._ Another brilliant entry in the Dick Simmons' Litany of Failures.

A few minutes later, the clearing where they'd left the jeeps came into view. Sure enough, one was gone. Racing up to the remaining vehicles, Simmons eased Jensen down onto the ground and hurriedly dragged out the emergency evac kit. With shockingly steady hands, he assembled the emergency stretcher and latched it onto the back of the jeep. Then, carefully shifting Jensen onto the stretcher, he strapped her in.

Just as he was about to trigger her armor lock, Jensen's head lolled to the side, her cracked visor staring up at him. "Ca-ap," she slurred. "Hurts."

"I know. You- You're going to be okay. Just stay still," Simmons stammered back. Gulping briefly, he flipped through the menus in his HUD while he gently rotated her head to stare back up at the sky. Then, a flash of light shimmered across Jensen's armor, locking her body into place.

"Cap…" Jensen sighed, her voice growing faint as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

"It'll be okay, Katie," Simmons whispered. With a deep breath, he rose back to his feet and climbed into the driver's seat. Cranking the ignition, he quickly turned the jeep around and smoothly accelerated forward until the vehicle was tearing down the overgrown road. Driving laws be damned; Jensen's life was on the line.

* * *

It didn't take long to make it through the security line ringing Crash Site Bravo and reach the ramp leading into the _Hand of Merope_. Orderlies were standing by ready to unload Jensen, and within moments of pulling up to the crashed ship, she was being wheeled inside so she could be taken to Medical and prepped for surgery.

Simmons sat frozen, watching the retreating stretcher and listening as the pieces of Jensen's armor hit the deck of the ship with steady stream of _thunk, thunk, thunk_ as the orderlies stripped the heavy armor off. The tan and red accented plates fell like breadcrumbs marking their path.

Once Jensen was out of sight, Simmons slumped down in his seat, resting his helmet against the steering wheel. His limbs felt dull and heavy, especially his prosthetics. The ever-present buzzing noise and activity that filled Crash Site Bravo seemed to fade away as he took a moment to just sit and breath.

Dr. Grey would take care of Jensen. She'd _fix_ her as- as much as possible. He'd gotten Jensen here in time. He'd driven faster than ever before because- because- this was _his fault_. It was _his mission_ that had gone so horribly wrong. And… he needed to report in. To let Kimball know what had happened, assuming she hadn't already heard.

Taking a deep breath, Simmons forced himself back upright and carefully drove to the motorpool. After turning the vehicle in for maintenance, he began the long walk to Kimball's office, dodging the cheerful greetings and enthusiastic waves offered by everyone he passed.

As he cut through the center of Crash Site Bravo, his eyes flickered over the many changes that had been wrought on the canyon since _The Hand of Merope_ had crash landed over a year ago.

The area around the comm tower Wash had spent so many months working on was now filled with machines as the mechanics and engineers repaired pieces of equipment and worked on the vehicles in the nearby motor pool.

Foot traffic streamed in and out of the repaired Red Base, which now served as the new armory. Sarge continued to oversee their weapon supplies and even had a cot set up so he didn't have to set foot in the ship. He claimed it would forever be tainted by the months the Blues had spent living in it.

Sadly, the small vegetable farm Simmons had created next to Red Base was ruined. When they'd taken stock of their resources after arriving, they'd discovered the garden had continued growing even after the canyon was abandoned. The crops had been quickly harvested and consumed in just a few days. And since then, Simmons hadn't had any luck getting anyone else interested in continuing his farming experiment.

A Pelican suddenly swooped down into the canyon, its engines roaring as it approached the open field to the south. Once filled with landmines, the field now served as their airfield, as it was the only area in the entire canyon large enough for a transport ship to land.

Simmons paused, turning slightly as the Pelican's engines began to wind down. The back hatch opened and he held his breath for a moment, hoping to see blue armored soldiers come striding down the ramp. But instead of Caboose and Smith, Fed soldiers came pouring out carrying a number of crates. Just another supply run, he realized.

Turning away, Simmons returned to his march to the ship, adding some extra speed. He didn't linger as he passed the rows of tents set up outside the ship, veering instead towards the ramp that lead up and inside.

The broken rear half of _The Hand of Merope_ was in better shape than when the Reds and Blues had left the canyon. Getting the ship fixed up and secured had been the combat engineers' first task after the fight on the _Staff of Charon_. And they'd done a good job. The twisted corridors had been straightened out, supply closets could be locked, and the ship's medical facilities had been cleaned and sterilized to better protect the health of Dr. Grey's patients.

Patients that included Jensen.

Simmons strode determinedly forward, glancing around just long enough to note that someone had come and collected the pieces of Jensen's armor that had been discarded while the orderlies wheeled her to Medical.

Kimball's office wasn't very far into the ship. She liked being close to the hub of activity, and as he approached, Simmons saw that, as usual, her door was wide open.

He stopped short, shifting to one side of the metal corridor while he tried to gather his thoughts. God. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to go run and hide. To grab the whiskey Grif kept hidden in their room and find some empty corner where he could drink and blur the awful thoughts swirling through his head. To drown out the memory of Jensen's limp body and shattered arm.

But he couldn't do that, could he?

Before he could start second guessing himself, Simmons hurried forward until he was hovering just outside Kimball's office.

The motion of his arrival must have caught her attention, because Kimball looked up from her datapad, eyes going wide as she spotted him. "Simmons! Come in," she urged him, gesturing him towards one of the chairs facing her desk. Once he was inside, she hit a button on the top of her makeshift desk and the door slid shut behind him.

Taking a seat, Simmons tugged off his helmet and gauntlets, then placed them in a pile on his lap.

"Did you just get in? Sprinkles was just here. She said you ran into trouble. And I got word that you'd radioed ahead for Medical to be on standby." Worry creased Kimball's brow as her eyebrows drew together. There were dark circles under her eyes.

Shoulders slumping, Simmons fought back the urge to avert his eyes. His throat felt dry and tight, almost painfully so. "I just dropped the jeep off," he confirmed. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Simmons began to relate everything that had happened on the mission. "We reached the first site on our list without any trouble. But, it turned out that there _were_ pirates there. They'd built up their defenses for an attack. I'd split the team by pairs, me with Ruan, Smith with Caboose, Rowntree with Cornwallis, and Vol-Sprinkles with Jensen. We spread out around the perimeter before entering the site, but the pirates must have spotted someone because once we were close to the farm buildings they opened fire.

"Everything was a mess. The pirates turned on some kind of comm jammer so we couldn't contact each other. Jensen and Sprinkles ended up in the barn and found something - a bomb of some kind. She and Jensen got to work disarming it while the rest of us were fighting the pirates outside. They got Ruan, Cornwallis, and Rowntree before we took them down."

Simmons' hands tightened on his helmet, the metal creaking slightly as his cybernetic limb clutched with inhuman strength. "I'd started searching for the others when Sprinkles came running out of the barn. She was carrying something, shouted that Jensen had ordered her to head straight to Crash Site Bravo, and that Jensen was alone in the barn with a bomb. Then, she was gone.

"I entered the barn. Jensen was up on a- a- platform or something. Before she could call out or anything, the bomb exploded and- and- she-" Choking, Simmons broke off, squeezing his eyes shut as the memory of Jensen's limb body flying through the air replayed in his mind.

"Take your time," Kimball ordered softly.

Gulping down several desperate breaths, Simmons soon found the strength to continue and opened his eyes. "The force of the explosion knocked her off the platform. She landed on the ground level unconscious. I- I started applying first aid. Um, her arm was- was gone. Blown off, I think, by the bomb."

Pressure was building up in his eyes and the vision in his organic eye started to blur with tears. "Smith found me- us- in the barn. Reported that he and Caboose were alive and that they had a prisoner. I knew Jensen needed medical treatment as soon as possible. So I-" his voice cracked again, "I left them behind. I transported Jensen to the remaining jeeps and headed back to base. Radioed in as soon as comms were working to alert Medical, and to get someone to go pick up Caboose and Smith and… and the others.

"Jensen's with Dr. Grey now," Simmons concluded. It was hard forcing the words out. His stomach churned with guilt and shame, tendrils of nausea crawling up his throat with the bitter taste of acid. "I haven't heard anything from Caboose or Smith."

Silence hung in the small office for several long moments while Kimball processed his report.

"Sprinkles reported that she and Jensen found a missile with some kind of chemical payload," the general finally stated. "Jensen was worried about the worst case scenario - that you and your entire team would be killed by the ambush, which is why she ordered Sprinkles to take the possible chemical weapon and get it off-site as fast as possible. Grey sent me a message saying she had a technician working on trying to identify it."

Pausing, Kimball leaned across her desk, reaching for Simmons. Her hand fell onto his helmet, her fingertips brushing against his. "You did the right thing, Simmons. Even with the price your team paid, you made the right call. I know it doesn't feel that way, but until the UNSC arrives with aid, we're still on a wartime footing.

"But for now, don't worry about any of that. Worry about Jensen," Kimball ordered. "I'll make sure someone brings you updates about the Caboose and Smith. For now, go change. Loose the armor. Be ready to go see Jensen. I know she'll want to see you."

Simmons stared down at her hand, his mind absently noting the contrast between her coffee toned skin and his own pasty freckled skin. Both their hands were rough and calloused, though. Soldiers' hands.

Finally, he gave a jerky nod. Gathering up his helmet and gauntlets with clumsy hands, he clutched them to his chest with one arm while offering Kimball a hasty salute with the other. She was right. Jensen needed him. He'd failed her once. He wouldn't do so again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, Captain!" With a sob, Volleyball shot out of her small chair and flung herself at Simmons.

Without thinking, Simmons wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as she pressed her face into his neck. Her hands clutched tight at the worn gray fabric of his shirt. Threading his fingers through Volleyball's dirty blond hair, Simmons closed his eyes and rested his check against the top of her head. For a few moments, they just stood, sharing a moment of quiet grief and worry.

Sniffling, Volleyball eventually pulled back and scrubbed at her face with the palm of her hand. "Katie's still in surgery," she informed him with a trembling voice. "Haven't really gotten any word on how it's going."

"It's only been an hour," Simmons noted after glancing at the clock haphazardly hung on the wall of the makeshift waiting room. The small space, carved out of a supply room adjacent to the medical facilities, was lined with long, padded benches. Armrests split the benches into smaller single- and double-wide seats, some of which were torn and battered from all the armored bodies that had collapsed onto them. Far too many of the young soldiers of the United Armies of Chorus had spent time sitting in this room, staring at the clock and waiting for news about friends and loved ones. There had been moments of relief and joy in this room - and even more moments of agony and loss.

For now, at least, the room was empty save for himself and Volleyball.

Unwilling to let him drift away, Volleyball grabbed him by the hand and dragged him over to one of the benches, letting go only after he sat down in one of the two-person seats. Volleyball, meanwhile, folded herself into the spot next to him, perching on the thin seat cushion with her knees drawn up to the her chest and arms wrapped around her legs.

Eventually she spoke. "Captain, I'm so sorry," her voice cracked, face twisting with guilt. "This is all my fault."

"Vol- Sp- Jessica, you didn't do anything wrong."

" _I left her behind."_

"... you did the right thing."

The agony and guilt in Jessica's voice stabbed at Simmons' mind. It _wasn't_ her fault. All she should've been doing was worrying about Katie, not sitting here feeling like she was the one who'd put her best friend's life in danger.

That was on him.

"You did the right thing," Simmons repeated with more conviction, echoing the words Kimball had said to him in her office. He couldn't bring himself to look over, to see the disbelief that he knew would be on Jessica's face. "Between the two of you, Katie had lead. And she was right that the chemical weapon you two found needed to be given priority over everything else. The only people you should be blaming are the pirates for creating that weapon, and me for putting you both in a position to find it, for not being there to help you deal with it."

The explosion played itself out in slow motion in Simmons' memory. The _crack_ and _boom_ as the explosive erupted, and the force of the energy wave rushing out to batter everything around it. Then, Katie's body, soaring through the air. For a moment, her flight almost looked intentional, as though she'd thrown herself clear of the blast. But the data streaming in his HUD told a different story - it registered the sudden loss of blood pressure, screamed about damage to Katie's armor, and flashed alerts as her medical suite started dumping pain medication into her system.

Then, the memory skipped and Katie was lying limp and seemingly lifeless on the ground, blood pooling beneath her shattered arm. For a moment, all he could see were the blackened marks on what remained of her vambrace, the damaged rerebrace on her upper arm, and across the side of her cuirass. Streaks of red covered the tan armor plates from knee to chest.

 _It's my fault_ , Simmons knew. Katie, sweet, kind, brilliant Katie, was under the knife right now because he'd failed to protect her. She shouldn't even have gone on the mission. An engineer with her skills should have stayed safe and sound back at base, especially with how stretched they were for resources. But that was exactly why she'd ended up going. In the end, they simply didn't have enough experienced, combat-ready soldiers to scout out all the potential pirates' nests without dipping into their pool of specialists.

Bile rose in Simmons' throat. The room suddenly seemed much smaller than it had moment earlier, the walls crowding around him. There was a faint mechanical _click_ , then the hum of the air circulation system fell silent.

The room was dead quiet.

In his chest, Simmons' artificial heart began to beat faster and faster. Sweat dotted his brow as a wave of heat suddenly swept over him. At the same time, his breaths began to get shallower and closer together.

 _Oh god_. This was the worst time for a malfunction! The bile rose up once more even as his throat tightened. Panic began to spread through him as the room seemed to get hotter and hotter. His limbs, organic and mechanical both, felt heavy and unresponsive. The smooth texture of the plastic bar bolted to the metal armrests barely registered.

It wasn't just his heart - this was a complete systems failure. He could feel his internal organs shutting down and misfiring, could picture the damage spreading throughout his nervous system until even his remaining organic parts were affected as well. He couldn't- he couldn't deal with this right now. Grey was the only person who could fix him-

-he couldn't call Grey away from Jensen-

-he was dying, dying, about to die-

The nightmarish sensations of doom and impending distress continued to build until all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, whimpering as he clutched at the arm rest and trembled, knowing he was moments away from collapse. In the distance, he vaguely heard a voice, promising to be _right back_.

Then he was alone.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he heard footsteps approaching.

"Simmons, what do you need right now?"

 _Grif_.

He tried to speak, but couldn't get the any words out, and just ended up shaking his head helplessly. How long before his lungs shut down?

Letting out a soft, thoughtful hum, Grif shifted, moving from standing in front of him to sitting next to him, opposite where Volleyball had been sitting. The air circulation system kicked on again, and the sudden movement of the air wafted Grif's familiar scent into his noise.

A hand touched his cybernetic arm, patting first the back of his hand, then at random points up towards his shoulder and along his chest and back.

"Your cybernetics are fine. No smoke. Not any warmer than usual. Simmons, what you're feeling right now is scary, but it's not dangerous."

"It's not- It's- Parts inside," Simmons choked out, eyes still squeezed shut. " _Hurts."_ He couldn't- he wasn't getting air. He was choking, gasping-

"Your cybernetics are working fine. This is in your head." A large hand came to rest on top of his. The sudden pressure made him jump, but at the same time, it was warm and familiar. "Concentrate on your breathing. Stay in the present. Just breathe, Simmons."

With a bit more coaxing, Simmons followed along with Grif's promptings, and began the struggle to get his breathing under control. It was an uphill battle, but they'd both been down this path before.

Grif counted softly, _inhale one-two-three-four, hold one-two-three-four_ , _exhale one-two-three-four, hold one-two-three-four_ , over and over.

He knew the pattern. Almost automatically, Simmons, struggled to match his breathing to the steady counting. _Inhale-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, exhale-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four_.

"Can you open your eyes?" Grif asked quietly, intently, once Simmons had stopped shaking quite so much and he wasn't struggling for air. "Five things you can see in the room. Go."

Terrified about what he might see, but ultimately trusting Grif, Simmons slowly opened his eyes. After a few more shaky breaths, he grappled with his own panic, focusing on looking around so he could start listing things. "Clock, digital," he gasped. He couldn't- couldn't read the numbers.

"What else? Four more things." Grif didn't ask what about the time.

"Um. Benches." Tentatively, Simmons let his head creep around, his eyes sweeping across the room to find other things. "Terminal in the wall. In the corner. Um, a table. There's a magazine on it."

"Good. Four things you can feel."

Fear still clawed at him, fueled by an ache in his gut. Out of the corner of his eyes, though, he could see Grif sprawled out in his seat next to him. He wore a relaxed expression and the overall nonchalance air surrounding him was almost comforting in its familiarity.

"Your hand," was the first thing that popped into mind. Grif's hand, big and warm, still rested on top of his. The artificial nerves registered the pressure, carried an interpretation of the heat that radiated off Grif's hand to his brain. Glancing down, he realized the cybernetic limb was clutching tight at the armrest, denting the metal with inhuman strength. After a moment, he was able to get his fingers to relax. His other hand… "The seat cushion, it's soft." His organic fingers twitched, sliding across the worn plastic of the open seat next to him.

"Two more things you can feel. Come on."

Simmons sneaked a peek at the man sitting next to him. Sure enough, Grif was still as calm and relaxed as he'd ever seen him. Some of the tightness loosened inside him at the familiar sight. Closing his eyes again, he focused. Just feel. That's all Grif wanted right now. "My pulse is racing," he realized. "It's going too fast-"

"It's fine," Grif interrupted. "One more. You can do it."

"I feel warm."

"That works." He heard Grif shift position next to him. "Three things you can hear."

 _He knew this._ They'd done all this before. "The air system. And … there are voices outside," he realized.

"And they're going to stay outside," Grif added in a firm voice. "Everything's fine. One more sound."

Taking a deep breath, eyes still closed, Simmons focused on his hearing and tilted his head to the side slightly. "There's a rattle. I think- I think there's something caught in the vents."

"Cool. Two things you can smell."

Working through his different senses was helping. The overwhelming panic and certainty that he was dying from before was fading. "Floor cleaner. And toast. You've been stealing Matthews' breakfast again."

"He didn't want it," Grif countered. Then, his fingers, short and wide, slipped between Simmons' own longer, narrow fingers. "Last one. Name one good thing about yourself."

Simmons felt heat spread across his face as embarrassment swept through him. This was a recent addition to… this. Grey had suggested it.

"Come on, don't overthink this. It can be something small," Grif coaxed him.

"Um. I-" His mind had gone completely blank. "I can play the banjo," he finally said with a tinge of desperation. Opening his eyes, he gave Grif a pleading look, hoping his answer passed muster.

"You did it," Grif announced. The bastard was completely relaxed next to him, he even wore a small smirk. "Good job. You got through all of it." Then, casting him a quick look, "Feeling better?"

Simmons focused inwardly for a moment, taking stock. The panic, heat flashes, and pains had faded. His organs, organic and artificial, no longer felt like they were on the verge of failure. His chest still felt tight, though, and a wave of exhaustion hit him like a cement truck. The aftermath of his panic attacks were almost as bad as the attacks themselves. And this one-

Suddenly the reason he was in this waiting room flooded into his mind. He remembered Jensen, horrifically wounded and now undergoing surgery. And worse, Cornwallis, Rowntree, Ruan - all dead.

Yanking his hand out of Grif's, Simmons covered his face with his hands, sighing slowly and deeply.

"Simmons?" Grif sounded wary, almost worried.

"Leave me alone," he snapped, voice muffled. He'd forgotten. How the hell could he have forgotten? What was wrong with him? He didn't deserve to be comforted like this.

A faint commotion sounded outside. The voices he'd noticed earlier, once distant and muffled, erupted in a flurry of arguments. And there was a new voice- A very familiar voice.

The door to the waiting room flew open and Donut raced in, looking sad and mournful. "Gosh, Simmons, I just heard the news! If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you, buddy." Throwing himself down next to Simmons, Donut immediately tried to wrap his arm around Simmons' shoulders.

Almost on automatic, Simmons dropped his hands from his face and jabbed outwards with his elbow, catching Donut in the ribs even as he recoiled from the other man. The armrest dug into his side as he jerked away, his leg pressing up against Grif's.

Unperturbed, Donut settled for patting Simmons' arm with his hand. "I bet Jensen's going to be just fine!" he exclaimed. "Dr. Grey's looking after her, after all, and we all know how good a doctor she is! Right, guys?" he asked, turning to look at Volleyball and Bitters as they hurried into the waiting room.

"She's much better than any of the doctors we had in the New Republic," Volleyball agreed, dropping down to sit on a nearby bench seat. Her hands clutched tight at the armrests as she started chewing on her lower lip.

"I don't understand how the fuck Katie got blown up in the first place!" Bitters snarled. Unlike Volleyball, he didn't sit, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest as he loomed in front of Simmons. The faint greenish tint to his skin darkened as his face flushed with rage. His purple eyes, meanwhile, took on a dangerous tint. These faint hints at a mysterious alien ancestor only made him appear more threatening.

"The mission was a shit show," Simmons snapped back at him. The room was starting to feel small and confining again, causing his breath to hitch. Immediately, Grif's shoulder crossed over the armrest between them and pressed against his, giving him something solid to focus on besides the growing crowd of people surrounding them.

"I left her alone," Volleyball added, drawing her knees back up to her chest. "I know what Katie's like, that she hates leaving a job half-finished. I know Katie and I left her alone with the bomb." Misery lacing every word, she buried her head in her knees, hiding her face from everyone.

Letting out a soft clucking sound, Donut abandoned his seat next to Simmons to sit next to Volleyball. Leaning over the armrest, he wrapped a friendly arm around her and rested his head on her shoulder. This time, his kind gesture was accepted, rather than rebuffed.

"We were ambushed," Simmons finally explained after a moment of silence. Pressing closer to Grif, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he began to describe the incident at the farm. His voice faltered when he recounted how first Idella Ruan, then Merrick Rowntree, and finally Falk Cornwallis died at the hands of the enemy. "Caboose and Smith should arrive soon," he finally concluded. "Hopefully with a prisoner we can interrogate."

"We'll wring every possible piece of intel out of that dirtbag! And we won't stop with just the events on Chorus - we'll go all the way back to his no-doubt terrible childhood! To his parents' childhood! We'll know this pirate better than we know ourselves."

There was a collective jump at Sarge's sudden booming declaration. None of them had noticed the gruff soldier's entrance.

The older man gave them a satisfied grunt when their heads swiveled to stare at him. Crossing his arms, he nodded confidently. "This insult to the glorious Red Army will not go unpunished," he vowed.

"That's right, Sarge!" Donut beamed, delighted by the dramatic pronouncement. "We'll whip the truth right out of him and leave him raw and aching!"

"For the love of-" Grif's voice broke off with a strangled sound. Glaring, "Shut the fuck up, that isn't helping."

"None of you are helping!" With a surge of frustrated energy, Simmons forced himself to his feet and cast a teary glare around the room. "People are dead!" Simmons wailed before he bolted from the room.

Without looking back, he raced deeper into the ship. It wasn't long before his sudden burst of energy faded away, leaving Simmons to slump exhaustedly against a wall. Pressing his hand against his face, Simmons squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the hot prick of tears in his organic eye. Three people were dead. Gone. On his watch. He'd failed again, this time with devastating consequences.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, silent tears leaking down his face before footsteps came running up to him.

"Captain Simmons! Captain, is- is Katie-"

Taking a hasty breath, Simmons rubbed at his face and looked up at Palomo. The young officer stared up at him with wet, terrified green eyes.

"She's still in surgery."

"Surgery," Palomo whispered. Then, giving him a jerky nod, he spun on his heel and raced away, headed towards Medical. As he rounded the corner, he rebounded off of Tucker and kept going, too frantic to even think of offering his superior any kind of apology.

Rubbing his shoulder, Tucker grumbled at Palomo's retreating back. Then, glancing up and down the corridor, he made his way over to Simmons. Leaning his back against the wall, he stared forward, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Me and Palomo just finished reporting in to Kimball," Tucker began in a quiet voice. "We didn't have any trouble with our sites. Once we were done, she told us what happened. It, uh, really sucks, man," he finished awkwardly. "But hey, if Dr. Grey's on the case, Jensen's going to be alright."

"I know that," Simmons whispered. "I know that! I know that Grey will be able to- to fix her! That doesn't make it okay!" Hands balled into fists, Simmons shoved himself away from the wall. His emotions felt like a roller coaster, rocketing up and down, and up and down. "It's not okay that Jensen got hurt in the first place! It's not okay that three people are dead!"

Tucker's alien-tainted yellow eyes went wide at the sudden verbal assault. "Dude, calm down!" He reached out to rest a hand on Simmons' shoulder, only to have it smacked away. Shaking the now stinging-hand, he aimed a fierce glare at the other man. "Jesus Christ, what crawled up your ass? I'm trying to be comforting and shit here."

"Well, you're doing a crappy job of it," Simmons snapped.

"Yeah, at least I'm trying." Folding his arms across his chest, Tucker snarled, "So your team died. Guess what? I've been there. You took a risk and your team paid the price. I know how much that sucks." Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Tucker continued in a calmer voice. "My team died so I could steal the intel on where the Feds were holding Wash and the others. Do you remember what Kimball said when I got back from the operation?"

Simmons stared back at him, stone-faced and unwilling to respond.

Rolling his eyes, Tucker pressed on. "She said that the choice cost lives, but got us valuable information. And that I'd have to decide on my own if it was the right thing to do or not. And you know what?" He tilted his head to the side, some of his long dreadlocks slipping off his shoulder. "That operation is what lead us to the guys - and let us find out just what kind of dick weasels Felix and Locus were. That operation is what eventually led us to ending this fucking civil war and saving the whole goddamned planet. So looking at the big picture? I'd say that operation was a win, even if it did cost most of my men their lives."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Simmons demanded in an outraged voice. "That I should be _happy_ three people died?" Fire raced through his nerves, filling him with a simmering tension. A vice seemed to grip his head, screwing tighter and tighter while his gut began to churn.

"I'm saying that with our track record, your shitty op could be what leads us to finishing off the pirates once and for all! Dude, that's totally worth it."

As Tucker offered him a tentative smile, the fury ripping throughout his body became almost unbearable. His breathing began to emerge in short gasps, then before he could think, his fist collided with Tucker's jaw, sending the other soldier slamming back into the wall.

"Oh, you fucking didn't," Tucker gasped as he cradled his jaw with a hand. "Fine," he hissed, then lunged forward.

* * *

Holding a piece of his torn shirt to his nose, Simmons wearily debated just collapsing on the ground there in the corridor. Fighting with Tucker had probably been a mistake, even if he'd had it coming.

Their brawl had been swift, but violent. Tucker out-massed him, had better fighting skills, and wasn't feeling hungover and punchdrunk after prolonged stress and a panic attack. All Simmons had going for him was a cybernetic arm and the kind of rage that made the entire fight an angry blur.

He was pretty sure he'd gotten in several good blows, but in the end, Tucker had kicked him into the wall before stomping away, blood falling in his wake like scattered raindrops.

In hindsight, getting into a brawl with someone who'd done hand-to-hand training with Wash was an obvious mistake. But Tucker must have taken some kind of pity on him; he hadn't actually broken any bones and Simmons felt somewhat confident that the other soldier had pulled several of his punches. Even if he himself hadn't. There were several dents in the walls that could attest to how wildly he'd been lashing out.

Miserably, Simmons pushed away from the wall and started trudging towards his and Grif's room. He wanted to know if Jensen was okay, to go and wait, but he was a wreck right now. He shouldn't be around anyone.

If nothing else, he reflected, he could patch himself up in private. Cover up the signs of how badly he'd broken down. Cover up his shame.

God, he was tired. The corridors seemed to sway as he lurched through them, his cybernetic hand running along the wall to keep himself from falling over. He couldn't let Jensen see him like this. He needed to be strong for her. Not exhausted and flailing about like an angry toddler.

Simmons' new to-do list was short by the time he reached his room. Bandage his wounds. Clean away the blood. Take a nap. Once he'd done all that, he could go see Jensen. Once he'd done all that, maybe everything wouldn't be so terrible. Maybe. Just maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

Gradually, it dawns on her that she's staring up at dim blurry lights while quiet music tinkles in the background. Everything is soft and fuzzy; her head feels stuffed full of cotton balls. Too many cotton balls. So many there's pressure in her head.

Trying to twitch her hands or feet, Jensen let out a soft blurble of frustration when her limbs barely moved. Moments later, footsteps approach.

"You're just fine, my love," a soft voice croons. The voice is a reassuring, comforting sound, and a welcome distraction from the vague sensation that something isn't right. A blurry face appears over her, and she can just make out a warm smile spreading across a round face.

"Waa-" Jensen managed to croak out. Her mouth is so dry. It's a desert. A desert in her mouth.

"Not just yet, lovely," the woman tells her.

There's a gentle pat on her arm before the woman vanishes, and Jensen realizes that her hand feels icy cold. With as much concentration as she can muster, she manages to gradually tuck it under her blankets. She's cold _all over_ , though.

The woman reappears, holding something long and white. "Here you go, this will help."

With the aid of gentle hands, Jensen opened her mouth and was delighted to suck down on the few small pieces of crushed ice being offered to her. Everything is soft and fuzzy, but the ice is wet and her mouth isn't a desert anymore.

"Coo-" she manages. Cold, she wants to say. She's cold, but she can't get her mouth to work right. She needs it to work, she needs to talk to the woman.

But the woman seems to know what she's trying to say anyways.

"Cold?" she prompts. At Jensen's small jerky nod, she disappears, then reappears moments later, draping a warm, warm, WARM blanket over her. Toasty warm. Fresh from the microwave warm.

Oh, she's cozy now. Jensen relaxed, letting the heat fill her up from her toes all the way to her head. Flexing her feet, it gradually dawns on her that something is wrapped around her ankles and lower legs, rhythmically tightening and loosening. Not enough to hurt, not at all, but she can't move her legs.

No, she doesn't like it. She can't move her legs. What if she wants to move her legs? She can't. Brow furrowing, Jensen stared up at the lights and started wriggling her feet, slowly squirming out of the strange cuffs. She got one leg free, then the other. Then, she shifts her legs, just a tad. She can move her legs!

"Open wide, my love."

Blinking, Jensen realizes there's a woman standing over her with something white in her hands. She has a blurry, friendly, round face, and a kind smile. Staring wide eyed at the woman, Jensen twined the fingers of one of her hands in her toasty warm blanket and opened her mouth. A spoon slips into her mouth, then slides out, leaving behind several pieces of crushed ice.

Ooh, that was lovely. Happily, Jensen started sucking on the ice. It was cold, but she had a warm blanket and her mouth was so dry.

"You just got out of surgery, love," the woman patiently explains. "Everything went great. You're just fine."

Something about what she says this feels familiar, like she's heard it before. Gradually, it dawns on her that she's staring up at dim blurry lights, the quiet sound of music tinkling in the background. Everything is soft and fuzzy; her head feels stuffed full of cotton balls.

Trying to twitch her hands or feet, Jensen let out a soft blurble of frustration when her limbs barely twitched. Moments later, footsteps approach.

"You're just fine, my love," a soft voice croons. It's a reassuring, comforting sound. Then, there's a soft chuckle and a hand runs down her leg. "Now, now, sweetheart, you need to keep these on."

Fingers clutching at a warm blanket, Jensen stared up at the round lights overhead while something thick is wrapped around her legs and ankles. It starts to squeeze, then loosen, over and over again as the blanket is pulled back down over her feet. Her feet had been so cold.

Tightening her grip on the blanket, Jensen pulled her arm closer to her body, tucking the blanket tighter around herself. After a moment, she reached out with her other arm… but couldn't find the blanket. How odd. She must have made some kind of sound, because the woman appears and starts adjusting the blanket.

"You just got out of surgery, love," she tells her, voice warm and reassuring. "Everything is fine."

Surgery. Goodness. 'I wonder what happened?' she wondered. She's fine, though. The woman said so. Staring up at the round blurry balls of light overhead, Jensen listened to the music playing softly in the background. It's orchestral music, no singing. Just instruments. Captain Simmons would like it, she knows. She should tell him she's done with surgery, that she's fine. He'll worry otherwise.

"Nee-" Frowning, Jensen tried again, focusing harder on getting her mouth to move properly. "Nee Cap… Simms."

"Captain Simmons is just fine, lovely," a woman called out.

She can't see her. Who was that?

"No. Um. Nee tell Cap... that... 'mm oo-kay." There! She'd done it.

"You'll be able to see Captain Simmons very soon, my love," the woman reassured her. There were footsteps, then the blurry outline of a person appeared at her bedside. "We're just going to need to take a little more time for you to recover from surgery. Then you'll get to go to your room and Captain Simmons can come see you."

With a resigned sigh, Jensen returned to staring at the lights overhead. Just a little more time.

* * *

Gradually, it dawned on her that the glow of dim lights could be seen through her closed eyes while machines beeped and hissed quietly in the background. Everything was soft and fuzzy; her head felt stuffed full of cotton balls while her limbs were nothing more than dull, heavy weights pinning her to the bed. As she breathed, slow and deep, the skin on her chest pulled slightly, and she vaguely felt something similar to that time she and Jess covered each other in stickers years before they'd understood they were living in a world plagued by war.

For several moments, Jensen focused on the world around her, struggling to sort out the strange details slowly filtering through her senses. A hint of chemical cleaners hung in the still air. There was a faint hum of an air circulation system, but no air moving across her face. The machines she could hear were close, yet faint.

Suddenly, nearby, a loud series of squeaks interrupted her slow analysis. Reluctantly, Jensen opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a smooth metal ceiling with a few plain light panels. Machines hung on metal arms and stands all around her - all different pieces of medical equipment. She was lying in a narrow hospital bed, propped up with a few pillows with several worn blankets over her.

She was in the hospital wing. Why was she in the hospital? She must have been hurt - what had happened? Questions began to swirl in her mind but her thoughts were slow and muddled. Sleep tugged at her, trying to coax her to close her eyes once more and just let herself drift back into sweet oblivion.

She couldn't do that, though. She needed answers. She needed to know what had happened.

Blinking her eyes, she did her best to shake off the exhaustion that filled her and instead turned her head, looking towards the strange sound she heard.

Looking pale and wan, Matthews peered at her from his own bed. Lying flat on his back, his legs shook as he held them up in the air. When their eyes met, his face suddenly colored and he let them fall back onto the mattress, then hauled his blanket up to his chin, clearly embarrassed at having been caught mid-exercise. Dr. Grey may have been able to bolt and screw his fractured and broken body back together after the final fight with Charon, but he hadn't been cleared yet to get out of bed for physical therapy.

"Hi! How are you feeling?" Matthews inquired. "You look a lot more alert than you did earlier!"

"Earlier?" Confused, Jensen frowned. "The last thing I remember is Captain Simmons telling me about an upcoming mission. We just added some Feds to the team and he wanted to break them in easy." She sucked in a sudden shocked breath. "The mission - what happened? Did they cancel it?"

Matthews bit his lip, a flicker of anxiety flashing across his face. "The mission was yesterday."

"I missed it?"

"No, you… You went on it. Um-" Matthews' voice cracked as he suddenly broke off. He stared around the room for a few moments, carefully avoiding her gaze. "You got hurt on the mission. Dr. Grey said you had a concussion and you might not remember."

"... remember what?" Jensen asked slowly as an unpleasant chill ran through her. She'd talked with Captain Simmons just a few hours earlier. Or perhaps the day before. The mission wasn't supposed to have happened yet! How could Matthews say that the mission had been yesterday?

Something about her sudden distress must have shown on her face as Matthews didn't answer right away.

"Matthews, tell me," she demanded.

Looking unhappy, Matthews' lips twisted mournfully and he nodded his head towards her, his eyes flickered down slightly. "The mission was yesterday. It went… bad. Really bad, and, well, your arm's..." his voice trailed off.

"My arm?" Jensen looked down. Her right arm was bruised and bandaged, and an IV port had been affixed to her hand. A thin plastic tube was attached to the port and ran up to the bag hanging off a pole coming out of the wall overhead. That was bad, but not terrible. She'd been hurt worse. Which meant...

Real fear began to claw at her throat. For a minute, she couldn't bring herself to look over at her other side, terrified of what she'd find.

Finally, with a shaky breath, she shifted her gaze. At first, she didn't understand what she was seeing, her mind refusing to process the evidence before her as she clenched her left fist. She could feel the flex of muscles, the bite of uneven nails against the palm of her hand, and a faint tingle running the full length of her arm. But she didn't see it. She didn't see anything. Instead of an arm, _her arm_ , there was nothing. Just a short stump, wrapped in bandages.

That wasn't-

That couldn't be-

 _Where was her arm?_

Distantly, Jensen could hear the sound of the heart rate monitor accelerate. Matthews' spoke up but his words didn't make any sense. Everything around her suddenly seemed far away, out of reach or understanding.

She opened her mouth to scream or maybe cry, but found she couldn't breath. A fresh layer of panic engulfed her as she gasped. Her throat was so tight; the only sound she could make was a strangled wheeze.

Air, she needed air, _where was her arm?_ She couldn't breath, _no_ _air,_ her throat was closed-

A tall figure suddenly loomed over her, causing her to flinch back. The figure reached out, forcing something hard and plastic over her face.

Flailing, Jensen grabbed at the thing covering her face, trying to pry it off. Tears rolled down her face as she struggled to breathe and fought to free herself.

The figure leaned menacingly over her once more even as the room started to spin. Then, another figure appeared on her other side and took firm hold of her hand, pulling it away from her face and readjusting the thing the first figure had forced on her.

A cool, metal hand rested against her cheek, a long, slender thumb gently rubbing her cheekbone. Staring up, Jensen froze as a glowing red eye stared down at her.

"-kay, Katie, you're okay," the new figure was saying. "Everything's going to be fine. We're here to help. Just try and take a deep breath. I know you can do it."

With a small shudder, Jensen let herself collapse against her pillows, clutching hard at the warm hand holding her own.

"Take a breath, just one. You can do it."

"Cap'n," Jensen finally croaked a few minutes later. Above her, Simmons let out a soft, relieved sigh.

"Just keep breathing," he firmly ordered her. "The nurse gave you an asthma reliever through your IV. You should start feeling better soon."

With a soft sniff, Jensen nodded and focused on taking as deep a breath as she could manage with her aching chest.

Simmons continued to hover next to her, occasionally shifting his weight from foot to foot. Glancing up at him, Jensen realized that he had dark circles under his eyes and lines of stress that hadn't been there before.

"Captain, what happened?" she finally asked when the nurse allowed her to remove the breathing mask he'd placed on her face, feeling shaky and exhausted. She wanted to sleep, to turn her brain off, but first, she needed to know why she was in the hospital, why she was missing an arm.

Her captain didn't answer right away, instead glancing around the room. Giving her hand a quick squeeze, he let go and grabbed a chair from nearby, carrying it over next to her. After sitting, he took a deep, slow breath, clearly gathering his thoughts.

"You've been out for most of a day," he began quietly. "We went on the recon mission yesterday morning. Do you remember that?" he asked. When she shook her head, he grimaced and continued. "We ran into a band of pirates at the first location. We fought them. Our new squadmates… they didn't make it." Here Simmons paused, pressing his lips together and briefly bowing his head. "You and Volleyball found a missile launcher with some kind of chemical weapon inside. You managed to retrieve the chemical payload, but the explosive went off while your hand was still inside. You- You were pretty badly hurt. I- got you back to base and Dr. Grey treated you, but-"

He stopped, gaze shifting to the stump she was struggling to ignore, desperately wanting to pretend everything was fine.

"You lost part of your arm in the explosion," Simmons finally continued. "And Grey had to take even more off just to- to clean it up and make sure it didn't kill you. Your other injuries are serious, but not as bad. You had a concussion when you were brought in, several broken ribs, and were just- battered all over from being thrown around by the blast."

Silence filled the room once Simmons finished speaking. Sitting in the worn metal chair, he stared down at his folded hands, face slightly flushed. On the other side of the room, Matthews buried his nose in a datapad, pretending he couldn't hear every word they were saying.

After several silent moments, Jensen reached across her torso and touched the stump with shaking fingers. Even that feather-light touch sent a flare of pain up the remains of her arm and into her shoulder.

"I lost my arm," Jensen whispered, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. The tips of her fingers drifted across the rough texture of the bandages wound around the stump. If she closed her eyes, she would have sworn she could feel her entire arm - her knobby elbow, the slight pop in her wrist as rotated her hand, and the bite of sharp finger nails in her palm as she made a fist. But the bandage and the pain - that was the truth. That was real, not the phantom sensation of what she'd lost.

Dropping her hand back onto the bed, she turned her head away, staring the wall behind the different machines she was attached to. "I think I'd like to go back to sleep now," she declared in a tight voice.

"Jen-" Simmons paused. "Katie, I- I know this is hard-"

"Please just go away, sir."

There was a moment of silence, then the rustle of clothes as Simmons stood. Jensen could feel him hovering next to her bed and the weight of his mismatched gaze on her. Then, light fingers brushed the back of her hand.

"You'll get through this, Katie," he said in a quiet voice. "I promise." The legs of the chair scraped the floor as Simmons moved it back to its original location before heading for the door. Pausing, he turned towards her, "I'll tell Volleyball you woke up. She's been worried. It'll help hearing you're starting to recover."

With that final statement, the door slid shut behind him and the room was silent once more.

Jensen didn't move or react. Slowly, the tears that had been building up began to leak out of her eyes, rolling down her face and leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. It wasn't fair.


	5. Chapter 5

"Will you just hold still already?" Bitters demanded with obvious irritation as he continued lacing up Matthews' soft shoes.

"I've been in here for three weeks!" Matthews whined as he stared down from his hospital bed at Bitters' bent head. "Dr. Grey finally said I was healed up enough to start walking again. I'm tired of eating in here, and she promised I could go down to the mess hall!"

"Yeah, that's still going to take a while." With a dismissive snort, Bitters tugged the simple knot tight and shoved Matthews' leg off his knee. Standing, he kicked his short stool towards the wall and grabbed the crutches leaning against the bed. "You have months of PT ahead of you before Grey clears you for armor use."

Determinedly ignoring Bitters' running commentary, Matthews placed his hands on the crutches and slid off the bed, legs wobbling as he struggled to remain upright.

Bitters' hands hovered nearby, ready to grab Matthews at the slightest sign of falling. Eventually, though, the younger soldier got the padded ends under his shoulders and stabilized, grinning in triumph as he managed to remain upright.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Bitters gave him a small shove, watching closely to make sure he didn't topple over. "Idiot, you haven't been doing all your exercises, have you?"

"Dr. Grey didn't want me to push," Matthews countered. His face flushed slightly as he ducked his head down. "We still don't have a ton of medical supplies and she said she'd have the orderlies tie me to the bed if I stressed everything before the bones had healed enough to support my weight."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're dumb enough to fracture your pelvis." Scowling, Bitters took a few steps back. "It took her hours to get all the pins and screws in place to keep your ass bones from completely breaking."

The faint flush on Matthews' face darkened and spread, his shoulders rounding slightly as he curled in on himself.

"Bitters', stop picking on him," Jensen ordered from her own bed.

"I'm not picking on him," Bitters shot back at her over his shoulder. Shifting to the side, he crossed his arms, looking grumpy. "It's not my fault he's a dumbass."

Oddly enough, Matthews brightened visible at the put-down, causing Jensen to simply shake her head in amused resignation. The relationship between the two soldiers had always been odd and hard to define.

After a few more minutes of badgering (Bitters) and cheery rejoinders (Matthews), the two Gold team members left the hospital room, moving slowly and carefully as Matthews got accustomed to the crutches.

Once the door slid shut, Jensen was alone. Completely and totally alone for the first time in a week. The room was quiet, the medical equipement turned off and tucked back against the walls. A nurse had arrived an hour earlier with the news that she was being discharged, promptly handing her a datapad filled with instructions on how to continue her recovery from the privacy and comfort of the barracks she shared with Jess. All she was waiting for now was for someone to bring her something to wear besides a hospital gown.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Jensen's eyes fell shut and she took a moment just to focus on the quiet, still room.

Nurses and visitors for both herself and Matthews had been in and out of the room every moment of every day. They both had bandages that needed changing and cleaning, and physical therapy to do - not that anyone would let her do very much.

At first, Jensen had been too exhausted to protest her enforced bedrest, waking up only to eat, use the bathroom, when the nurses were changing the bandages on her amputated arm, and sometimes when Dr. Grey came by on her rounds, checking for signs of infection or other complications.

With another heavy sigh, Jensen opened her eyes and stared around the room once more. She'd slept more this week than at any other point in her life, yet she had every square inch of this space memorized. The sooner she could leave the better.

Without thinking, she leaned back onto her arm to stare up at the ceiling-

And fell flat on her back, a flash of agony lancing through her as she landed hard on bruised flesh and still aching ribs.

 _Wrong arm_ , she bitterly reflected once she'd caught her breath.

Feeling helpless and lost, Jensen stared up at the plain ceiling. "I can't do this," she whispered to the ceiling. "I _can't_ , I can't even tie this stupid hospital gown closed on my own."

Miserably, she curled up on her side and tried to ignore ever present throbbing coming from the stump, the faintly tingle of phantom sensations. _If I can't do things on my own, how can I help Chorus?_ _There's so much that needs to be done. I'm just going to slow everyone else down._

Before she could spiral further into misery, the door let out a soft musical chime. Sighing at the interruption, Jensen pushed herself up on her remaining arm. "Come in," she called out, mentally tucking all her hurts and worries as deep in her own mind as she could manage.

"Katie! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get here," Jess gushed as she hurried into the room. She had a stack of clothes tucked under her arm. "I didn't mean to leave you all alone."

"It's okay," Jensen hurried to reassure her, "Matthews and Bitters only just left. It was kind of nice having the room to myself for a short while."

"You must be happy to be getting out of here," a new voice commented in a hesitating voice.

The knot of anxiety and misery in Jensen's chest loosened somewhat at the sight of Captain Simmons. He hovered in just inside the doorway, ready to disappear at a moment's notice. He'd made a point to visit at least once a day since she'd woken up, often arriving with Captain Grif. She'd wake up to find him sitting quietly next to her bed, nose buried in a datapad while Captain Grif scolded and teased Matthews. When he saw that she was awake, blinking bleary eyes, he start expounding on whatever issue he was working on, whether that was managing their supplies, inventorying items brought in on supply and scavenging runs, or running drills.

All in all, she'd quickly decided that she liked Simmons' visits the best. He didn't stare at her with red, guilty eyes, or avoid looking at at her injuries the way Jess or Smith did. Her Captain was still twitchy and nervous but he'd _always_ been that way. He, at least, treated her like she'd just gotten a bit banged up and would be back on duty in a few days. He didn't draw attention to how she'd been… mutilated. For a little while, she could just pretend that everything was normal.

"I am looking forward to not having a nurse barging in every four hours to change my bandages," she agreed. "And to going to bathroom alone again." She'd be able to cry, too, once she could be alone. It was awful how uneasy and helpless everyone looked when she started getting choked up, and so she buried all her hurts and grief as deep as she could. She felt like she had enough tears to fill a Pelican's cargo bay stored up inside herself.

"That'll be nice," he agreed. Fingers rubbing along the seam of his pants, Simmons stared back at her for a long moment. Then, giving himself a small shake, he gestured towards the door. "I'll just…. uh, let you change," he blurted out before hurriedly jabbing at the door release and vanishing into the hallway.

"He's so funny," Jess giggled as the door slid shut behind him. "Okay! Let's get rid of that nasty old hospital gown."

It took both of them to get her out of her hospital-issued clothes. Because her injuries were ultimately fairly simple and straightforward, the nurses had given her a complicated gown with three arm holes and several sets of ties. It was worn more like a robe and afforded her more cover than the paper thin backless gowns the more seriously injured patients wore.

Dumping the gown on the bed, Jess helped her into a simple set of under garments and pulled a warm pair of socks onto her feet (and she hadn't realized how much she would miss socks with proper heels until this particular hospital trip). The pants were eased up over her still-bruised body and Jess carefully fastened the zipper and button for her.

"So, um, how do you want to do the shirt?" Jess asked with a flicker of unease.

"I can get it," Jensen insisted.

"I'm happy to help-"

"I said, I can get it," Jensen snapped, snatching the shirt out of Jess's hands. Staring down at the plain gray shirt, she bit her lip. "Sorry," she murmured, an embarrassed flush spreading across her face.

"It's no problem," Jess replied equally softly. "I'll just.. untie your shoes."

While Jess started fidgeting with the pair of shoes she'd brought, Jensen stared at the shirt, trying to figure out how best to get it on with only one hand. Eventually, after spreading it out on the bed face down, she was able to pull it over her head and get both her arm and the stump in the proper arm holes.

The door chimed as Jensen was settling the shirt down. "Everything okay?" Captain Simmons called through the door. "I can go get things if you need them."

"It's fine, Captain. You can come back in," Jensen called back to him.

As Captain Simmons re-entered the room, he seemed to melt slightly with relief when he saw that she was dressed.

"There's a trick to lacing and tying boots with one hand," he commented suddenly as his eyes fell on the shoes Jess was holding. "I can show if you want."

"That would be amazing," Jensen breathed. Her Captain, coming through for her yet again. Maybe with his help, she wouldn't be quite so helpless?

Still a bit hesitant, Simmons took Jensen's ancient, battered sneakers in hand and sat down on the bed next to her discarded hospital gown. After setting one of the shoes down, he started undoing the uneven laces, fingers tugging carefully as he pulled the frayed ends through the eyelets.

"I figured this out in Blood Gulch after Grif got run over by the tank and needed new organs to stay alive," he explained quietly, eyes focused intently on the shoe. "Sarge had made robotic replacements for all the organs Grif needed, but he thought Grif might mess them up. So I got them instead."

Once he had the laces mostly undone, he started to re-weave them through the eyelets, this time making sure the ends were even.

"Katie, here's a chair," Jess whispered suddenly.

Starting, Jensen twitched, glancing over at her friend. Then, nodding, she grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it next to the bed and sat down. Simmons passed her the shoe a few moments later.

"Go ahead and put it on," he instructed her. "This will work on both shoes." Jumping off the bed, he glanced around and found the stool sitting near Matthews' bed. "Volleyball, can you pass that over?" he asked.

"Sure," Jess agreed, hurrying over the grab the stool he'd nodded towards. "I was wondering, though," she continued as she bent over to grab the stool. "How did you end up with the artificial arm and leg? Did Captain Grif need replacement limbs?" Straightening up, she hurried back over with the stool.

Simmons winced slightly. A hint of the terrifying swirl of emotions from that day tugged at him: the fear that his best friend might die, the shock over being drafted into Sarge's ludacris plan to replace Lopez by turning him into a cyborg, and his desperate need for some kind of sign that maybe he was doing something right for once - even if it meant voluntarily allowing his mad scientist of a superior officer mutilate his body.

"It was a weird and terrible day," he finally declared. "What matters now, though, is that I've got some experience with living with just one arm. It's not easy, but there are workarounds." Taking the stool, he set it down next to Jensen and sat down to untie his own shoes.

He was patient as he guided Jensen through the tying her shoes. It took several attempts before she fully understood the process of weaving the frayed ends through the different sections, loosening the lace to create loops, and tightening the impromptu knots enough to hold everything in place.

Eventually, though, Jensen had both shoes tied neatly on her feet. Biting her lip, she sat back up and gingerly shook first one leg, then the other, testing to see just how secure the shoes were on her feet. Instead of slipping straight off, the shoes stayed firmly attached. And that accomplishment, more than anything else, nearly broke the dam holding back her tears.

"Katie?" Jess asked in an anxious voice, reaching out a gentle hand.

Recoiling, Jensen pressed her arm close to her ribs, deliberately avoiding Jess' touch. It was all too much right now. If she let Jess comfort her and admit to just how upset she was… "I'm fine," she hurriedly explained. "See? I tied my shoes." Her voice wobbled slightly. "I tied them. It'll be no time before I can get back to work. No time at all-" Limbs trembling, she broke off and fixed her gaze on the floor even as her vision started to blur with unshed tears.

Hesitantly, Simmons reached out, his hand hovering briefly over her shoulder before he pulled it back. "It won't take too long before Dr. Grey can fit you with a prosthetic."

"Yes, it will. She's all out." Biting her lip, Jensen tried to force back the tears trying to escape. She took a deep breath, trying to disguise a sniff as her nose started to run, and quickly wiped her face with her hand. "Even if the UNSC brought enough prosthetic limbs for everyone who needs them, there are lots of people ahead of me on the waiting list and getting the nerve endings attached requires surgery and more time to heal and-"

Bowing her head, Jensen felt her shoulders draw together as she hunched further down in her chair. "That's why I need to- why I'll learn to work with- with just one hand," she explained in a small voice. "If I don't learn-" she paused, swallowed, "If I don't learn, I can't help Chorus."

This time, Simmons didn't hesitate to lay a gentle hand on Jensen's shoulder. "It's okay to take it easy for a while," he said softly. "You've been through a lot, and it'll take time for you to heal."

"We don't have time to wait," Jensen yelled, her voice suddenly loud and shrill. Still crying, she battered Simmons' hand away and rose to her feet. "We called for help and stopped Hargrove, but no one's come to help us! We're low on food and medicine and all sorts of supplies, and there are still pirates out there trying to kill us!"

Scrubbing her face with her hand, she glared fiercely at the others. "We don't have time to just sit around and relax. Everyone who's here has to help. It's the only way we're going to survive. There are no excuses, not anymore. We can't afford them. I may have been dumb enough to- to get my arm blown off-" she heaved a deep breath, cringing slightly at the throb of pain in her chest, "but I'm still a soldier of the New Republic. A soldier of Chorus. It doesn't matter if I'm missing an arm or if it hurts to breath too deep. I'm going to keep fighting. I have to. I- I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

Before either Jess or Captain Simmons could think of a response, Jensen scooped up the datapad the nurse had brought her and shoved it into one of the pockets on her baggy pants. Then, without pausing or looking back, she hurried towards the door and left.

"Let her go," Simmons ordered Volleyball in a soft voice, reaching out to grab her arm. The younger woman resisted for a moment, staring at the closed door with a stricken expression. "She'll be okay. No one will let her hurt herself. And I think she could use some space."

Volleyball turned slightly once Simmons' let go and slouched against Jensen's bed. "Was she right about how low we are on supplies?"

Wincing at the fear in her voice, Simmons nodded reluctantly. "It's not common knowledge, but we're not in great shape," he admitted. "And the pirates aren't helping. We're burning through a lot of supplies trying to track them down. We captured a few here and there, but on the whole, they just keep eluding us."

Volleyball stared at the back wall for several long moments. Finally, in a tight voice, she asked, "Why hasn't the UNSC come to help us?"

"I don't know. Kimball's talked to them over superluminal communications, but…" he shook his head helplessly and crossed his arms, pressing them tight against his chest. "They're dragging their feet."

"They don't care about us, do they?"

"...No, I don't think they do."

Volleyball's next breath was shaky, but she pushed herself away from the bed with a look of determination. "Then we'll just have to work even harder to look after each other. I'm going to go find Katie. Thanks for coming with me, Captain."

A small, reluctant smile crossed Simmons' face. "I- I'm glad I came. I know that- that, ah, Katie sort of… blew up just now, but she's been through a lot. She has every right to be angry."

"I know. I just want to make sure she knows she isn't alone." Nodding, Volleyball offered him a small wave goodbye, then left.

Alone in the hospital room, Simmons rubbed his fingers against his knees, mind racing. He'd known about the issue with supplies. He just hadn't made the connection to how that would impact long-term medical care. Rotating his hands, he stared down at his palms, eyes tracing the myriad lines on his organic hand, then the smooth plates of his cybernetic limb. They hadn't had much back in Blood Gulch, he mused. Few supplies and even less expertise. It was a miracle none of them had died. (Well, beyond Church and Tex.) Maybe… Maybe they could use that experience to help here on Chorus.

A mental diagram of his cybernetic arm ran through Simmons' mind. It was certainly something to think about.


	6. Chapter 6

Matthews' face looked like an overly ripe grape, flushed a dark red and about to burst.

"Two more," Jensen said in a coaxing voice. Her knees were digging into the tops of his feet as she held them firmly against the mat.

With a heave and a grunt, Matthews rocketed up and forward, his elbows brushing his knees, then, just barely, managed to lower himself back down without simply collapsing.

"One more," Jensen promised, leaning forward slightly to apply more weight.

Matthews whimpered, chest heaving underneath his crossed arms. Screwing his face up, he let out a wordless cry as he forced himself up into the last sit-up of the day. Then, collapsing backwards, he let his arms flop out onto the mat with a pained groan.

Rocking awkwardly back onto her heels, Jensen peered down at Matthews with a faint smile on her face. "Still alive?" she inquired in a mild voice.

"No," Matthews gasped. "Tell- tell Captain Grif- I won't be-" eyes rolling back in his head, he let out a dramatic cry and let his head flop to the side.

Snorting, Jensen shoved his bent knees to the side. The younger soldier promptly rearranged his lower limbs to be in a more comfortable "death" pose. Jensen shook her head and dropped back to sit beside him on the mat.

It had been the physical therapist's idea for the two of them to work together during their rehabilitation. Their injuries may have been wildly different, but they were on a similar physical therapy plan, and as such, could help each other with the many different exercises. And Jensen liked having Matthews there. Once his anxiety issues settled and that desperate need for approval faded away, a bright, sunny personality had emerged. Matthews definitely had his annoying moments, but Jensen thought she could see what drew Bitters to him.

Rather than feed into Matthews momentary melodrama, Jensen focused on sitting up straight, her shoulders centered over her hips and level, briefly closing her eyes to center herself. Since her injury, she'd had a tendency to elevate the shoulder of her amputated arm, almost as though she was trying to hug her non-existent limb closer to her chest. She'd spent much of her first week of physical therapy standing or sitting in front of a mirror re-familiarizing herself with her altered body as she shifted from one pose to another. Losing her arm meant much more than losing her other hand - it was affecting everything about how she held herself and how she moved. And now, four weeks after the deadly fight with the pirates, Jensen couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever feel normal again.

A finger poked her leg. Blinking, she automatically glanced down to find Matthews' hand hovering inches away from her leg. Shifting her gaze, she found him pouting at her from the floor.

"I'm lying here dead and you're ignoring me," he complained, dramatically jutting out his lower lip.

"You're not dead, you're being overly dramatic, Matthews" Jensen countered. "We're here to work and get stronger. Not flop around like a fish out of water."

An unusually crestfallen look spread over Matthews' face and he turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. For once, they were alone in the workout room and there were no clinking weights or low grunts and chatter in the background. Just two soldiers, broken and alone.

"I'm sorry," Matthews finally replied in a miserable voice. "It's just... I feel useless not being able to go out with Captain Grif or Bitters. They're taking huge risks every day looking for supplies while I'm just… just sitting around doing nothing."

Jensen stared down into her lap, rotating her hand to she could stare at the palm. "You know Captain Grif and Bitters want you to get better," she insisted. "You are helping - you're giving them something to come back to."

"Aw, if we need someone to be the princess locked in a tower waiting to be rescued, I vote for Palomo. He'd be better at it."

A giggle slipped out before she could stop it. An image of Palomo dressed in a flouncy green gown like the ones from her childhood fairy tale books flashed through her mind. "Matthews," she said in a scolding voice once she'd gotten her amusement under control.

"I'm just saying!" Matthews grinned up at her, but the happy expression faded a few moments later. "I overheard Captain Grif talking to Captain Simmons. The shipment the UNSC sent us last week was a lot smaller than General Kimball was hoping it would be. The captains weren't sure if- if we're going to be okay."

An unhappy feeling twisted in Jensen's gut. "There's nothing we can do about it," she replied quietly. "Neither of us are in a position to be of any help right now."

With a small wince as he engaged sore muscles, Matthews rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead against her leg. "It's not fair," he mumbled into her. Wiry fingers plucked at the soft fabric of her sweatpants. "Nothing about this is fair. We beat Charon and Felix and Locus. We got a message out to the entire galaxy. It shouldn't be like this. We _won_. We shouldn't be struggling to find food or supplies." He paused for a moment, then, in a small, miserable voice, "At the very least, we should be able to help. It's not fair that we can't do anything to help anyone."

Matthews' plaintive declaration made Jensen feel old, like there was more than just one year separating her from him. A sudden sharp stabbing sensation in her missing fingers hit her, then a tight cramping lanced through the phantom limb right up to the stump. Gritting her teeth, Jensen forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose, hold it for four counts, then slowly release it through her mouth, pausing for another four counts once her lungs were empty. She repeated the cycle several more times until the muscles loosened and the pain subsided to a mere tingling sensation.

"At least you'll recover and eventually be back in action," she declared with some bitterness. "Dr. Grey still doesn't have any prosthetics and Captain Tucker hasn't found a Temple of Regrowing Missing Limbs. So I'm going to continue to be useless for the foreseeable future."

"Katie…"

Pulling her leg away from Matthews' head, Jensen leveraged herself back onto her feet, then turned, offering him her hand to help him up. Shifting one of her feet back, Jensen braced herself as Matthews grasped her hand and hauled him upwards. It was almost too much, and she staggered slightly at the sheer effort pulling his weight took. Silently, she cursed the pirates who'd cost her her arm. This was all their fault.

"Come on, we still have half an hour of cardio to do," she insisted once he was upright. Grabbing his crutches from where they leaned against the mirrored wall, she passed them over before heading towards the recumbent bikes one of the mechanics had finally gotten working. Behind her, she heard the distinctive click of Matthews' crutches as he reluctantly followed her.

He was right about one thing, she reflect as she started adjusting the seat on one of the bikes so she could fit her smaller body on it and reach the pedals. Nothing about this was fair.

* * *

"We may have finally gotten a lead on the pirates," Kimball announced without any preamble to the small cluster of officers packed into her office.

"Fuck, are you serious?" Tucker demanded, a note of stunned incredulity in his voice.

With an air of dark menace, Kimball nodded. "Surveillance teams spotted a scrounging party earlier today and managed to get word to Carolina before it was too late. She's following them as we speak. With luck, we'll have the location of their base of operations soon."

"It's about time," Wash sighed. "The sooner we can take them out the better. The constant harassment and assaults on our conveys is really hampering our ability to disperse food and supplies to the civilian outposts. Not to mention how thin things are getting around here." Turning, he glanced over at Simmons. "How are we doing, Simmons?" he asked.

Starting, the maroon armored soldier blinked under his at the sound of his name. A moment later, the messenger in his HUD blinked: _Supply report_ , Grif had sent him. Simmons felt his face flush, and he was secretly glad for the helmet concealing his face.

Clearing his throat, he hurriedly pulled his datapad up, calling up the report his inventory system had generated that morning. "We're not in terrible shape for food," he noted as he flicked through the pages. "The UNSC packed their supply ship full of MREs. We'll be sick of eating the same thing over and over again long before we need to start worrying about starving to death. Of course, that could change if we make contact with any more civilian outposts that need food supplies." He glanced up. "On the other hand, if we find more functioning hyrdoponics factories, like last week, we'll be able to improve the variety of consumables and keep morale up.

"Our fuel situation is getting pretty bad," Simmons continued. "We have three weeks worth of fuel for the Pelicans and maybe five weeks worth of ground vehicle fuel is we keep up our current consumption rates. We still haven't been able to safely tap into the supply on _The_ _Hand of Merope_ , though. That would be a game changer if we can get into the storage tanks and confirm the fuel inside is still good. Replacements parts are also pretty iffy, but so far the engineers and mechanics have reported that we have enough scrap and scavenged parts on hand to keep everything running for the foreseeable future.

"Ammo and armor isn't a problem. The armies may have run out of heavy offensive weaponry, to use against each other, but they both had plenty of small arms supplies to keep us going for, well, a really long time." Frowning, Simmons flipped through his datapad, skimming over the familiar lines and numbers. "We should be able to handle most ground fights without too much trouble. It's the ambushes and traps that are hurting us."

Simmons flicked to the last page of his report, his gut twisting unhappily. "Medical is where we're really hurting. The UNSC sent first aid, but we aren't actually using a lot of the field kits. At this point, we need more advanced supplies. Antibiotics, surgical equipment, more medical personnel, powered or unpowered prosthetics, rehabilitation equipment, and more. Dr. Grey also says we need to start worrying about the spread of communicable diseases. With the civil war over and the pirates mostly focused on fighting us, the civilian population is starting to move again. And given that Chorus' vaccination program collapsed years ago, there's a lot more potential nastiness circulating than we can handle.

"All in all, save for ammo and armor repair, we need more of everything," he finally concluded, looking up at first Kimball, than the others.

"No real surprises there," Kimball sighed. "Simmons, can you make a priority list? I have another superluminal meeting scheduled with the UNSC in a few hours. I'd like to ask for a bit of everything, but it will help if I can throw some hard numbers at them."

"Sure thing," Simmons quickly agreed, mind racing. He'd need to touch base with Dr. Grey to see if she had any updates that hadn't been submitted yet or if something new had occurred to her. Overall, though, it going through the rankings shouldn't take too long.

"Why the fuck are the UNSC being such assholes?" Tucker demanded. "Did they somehow miss the fact that we're fucked up down here?"

"It's probably a combination of factors," Wash responded in a grim voice. "There are a lot of planets still rebuilding from the Great War who are already in the UNSC's aid pipeline. Adding a new world to that supply chain isn't minor. The other main factor, well…" his voice drifted off.

"Chorus is insisting on being recognized as an independent world. Yes, we're asking for help right now, but only as a humanitarian effort," Kimball added, effortlessly picking up on Wash's unfinished statement. "The longer the UNSC drags its feet, the more time they have to try and convince us to return to the fold like a good little planet."

"Fuck that," Grif grunted. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared around the cramped room. "They jacked us over from day one. The sooner we can kick them to the curb, the better."

"You'll get no argument from me," Kimball agreed in a fervent voice. "I won't go into all the details, but let's just say Chorus' issues with the UNSC started long before the civil war. For now, let's focus on the situation at hand. Washington," she continued, glancing at the former Freelancer, "can you get a strike team ready? I'd like to move on the pirates as soon as possible. We're currently estimating somewhere between twenty and thirty pirates are still on the loose. I'm hoping, though, that Carolina will be able to firm up those numbers for us."

"That won't be a problem," Wash promptly replied. "I'll draw up a list of squads to put on immediate standby. And a few more in case of an unpleasant surprise. Tucker, mind giving me a hand prepping the teams?"

"Sure thing, man," Tucker agreed.

"Excellent. And when you're not helping Wash, Tucker, keep chatting with Santa. The more we can learn about the Temples, the better off we'll be." Kimball turned, pivoting smoothly from one task to another. "Grif, EOD cleared another town bomb-free yesterday. I'd like your scavenging teams to head out as soon as possible. The more supplies and survivors we can locate, the better off we'll be. Oh, and take Caboose with you. I think you'll need some extra muscle for this one."

"Great." There was a noticeable grimace in Grif's voice.

Cocking her head, Kimball shot him sharp look, her dark gaze piercing his helmet visor. "Is there a problem, Captain?"

Grif started, then shook his head a moment later. "Nah, it's- I'm just being shitty. Don't worry about it. Everything's fine."

"Alright. But let me know if something's come up. Simmons?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am?" Simmons asked nervously.

"Keep doing what you're doing. I know it may not feel as important as what everyone else is doing, but your logistics work is what's holding all this together."

"Oh. Um, right." Squeaked. He'd _squeaked_. God damn it.

"Alright, then. Let's move, people. I want wheels rolling in fifteen minutes."

The four soldiers who'd been clustered in Kimball's office dispersed quickly.

Simmons headed towards the small office he'd been assigned near the main storage area with Grif at his side. "Shouldn't you be heading for the vehicle pool?" he asked tentatively.

Shrugging, Grif replied, "I already messaged Bitters. He'll get all the shit together. I just need to show up."

"Are- are you okay? You seemed kind of upset earlier."

"Just-" Pausing, Grif stared down the corridor for a moment. "Let's just say having to scavenge like this so much is bringing up some bad memories and leave it at that. What about you?"

"Me?" Simmons let his mind race back to the meeting, reviewing everything he'd said and done.

"Yeah, since when do you zone out during meetings, Mr. Secretary?"

"Shut up," Simmons hissed. Seizing Grif's arm, he started hauling him down the corridor once more. "I was momentarily distracted. Um, thanks for the message, though."

"Sure." Once they reached the door to Simmons' office, Grif hovered for a moment, considering him through his opaque visor.

Despite knowing his face was hidden, Simmons felt his face flush. He couldn't hide anything from Grif, not for long anyway. "I'm working through an idea. It's- it's nothing big. Just- just a thought."

"Right," Grif drawled, clearly disbelieving. Reaching out, he patted Simmons' arm, then started to turn away. "I'll dig it out of you later. For now, the fun world of scavenging ruined towns awaits."

"Be careful," Simmons blurted out.

Glancing over his shoulder, Grif offered him a half-wave as he sauntered away.

Simmons didn't budge from his doorway until Grif was out of sight. Then, with a sigh, he turned and sat down at his desk, pausing long enough to dump his armor and gauntlets onto the floor beside his chair. Time to get back to work.

* * *

Night found Simmons picking miserably at his MRE. Nothing much had changed from earlier in the day. Carolina was still shadowing the pirates, Wash and Tucker were doing some (light) training with their strike forces, and Grif was still out with Caboose and his scavenging teams.

He could have sought out some of the others for company. Sarge and Lopez continued to reign supreme over the armory and motor pool with Donut flitting back and forth between them. Doc, meanwhile, was getting a crash course in nursing with Dr. Grey and could actually be credited with saving a few lives in the medical wing. None of them could be considered soothing dinner companions, though, and as the combined armies of Chorus started establishing a new normal, all Simmons' old social anxieties had come bubbling back to the surface.

Eating in the mess hall was a special kind of hell without Grif, at least, at his side. He dreaded the idea of picking up his meal from the serving line and then turning, staring at the sea of unfamiliar faces as he tried pick a spot to eat. He could shove his way into an already existing social group, disrupt their dynamic and be forced to make small talk for the next twenty minutes. Alternatively, he could try and find some of the New Republic soldiers he sort of knew and endure their praise and near-worship - all things he'd done nothing to earn.

There was always Kimball, but for the first time, he'd (mostly) shed his reputation as an ass-kissing suck-up egging for a promotion. And joining her outside of work hours? Pure ass-kissing.

And thusly, he was eating an MRE alone in his office. At least he knew the reheated meatloaf wasn't judging his every action.

His door chimed, interrupting his train of thought. "Uh, enter?" he called out. With a smooth _whoosh_ , the door slid open, revealing a downcast Katie Jensen with an MRE package tucked under her arm.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," Jensen said in a small voice. "Would- would it be okay if I ate in here?"

Simmons groped for something to say, but his mind went blank. Finally, he held his fork up with a rueful smile and gestured towards the chair facing his desk.

"Thanks, Captain," Jensen responded with noticeable relief. Stepping into the room, the door shut quietly behind her, and she set her MRE down on the desk and dropped into the chair. "The mess hall just seemed… I don't know, too big tonight."

"I actually know exactly what you mean," Simmons blurted out. Snapping his jaw shut, his face flushed with embarrassment at the exclamation. Instead of rolling her eyes like he'd normally expect, Jensen just gave him a small smile and suddenly didn't seem quite to downcast any more.

The office was quiet as Katie wedged the MRE package between her knees and ripped it open. Simmons watched quietly, ready to lend a hand if she needed it, but remained silent. He knew Jensen - if she needed help, she'd ask.

It took a few more minutes before Jensen had arranged the MRE packets to her satisfaction and had the main dish set up with the chemical heater. As the package hummed softly, she started fidgeting with the packages that had come with her meal, absently poking at the drink mix, the crackers, the small dessert. Something was clearly on her mind.

"Captain, what do you…" She stopped, biting her lip.

As he waited for her to continue, Simmons took a sip of his water to clear his mouth.

Eventually, she found the words to continue. "What do you do when… there's nothing you _can_ do?"

Simmons took a moment to think through her words. "Do you mean, what should you be doing right now when you're… when you're still doing rehab?"

"Yes, no-" Her voice broke off again and she cast her eyes away. "Captain, I'm- I'm useless. I can't _do_ anything. Even if- if Dr. Grey were to say I'm fully recovered and healed- Sir, I'm _broken_. I can't _do_ anything, not with only one arm. I can't- fix a Warthog or shoot a rifle or apply first aid. I'm just- I'm a dead weight."

"You're not a dead weight."

"Yes, I am!" she suddenly shouted. When she raised her eyes to meet his, tears glistened in her eyes. "There's so much going on and I can't help. With any of it. And- I know it's hard to- to understand-"

"Katie, of course I understand," Simmons interrupted. "Of all the people here, I understand."

Jensen started at him, startled, then her eyes widened and she looked down at his prosthetic hand.

"I, um, haven't really talked about this, have I?" he asked ruefully, staring down at his metallic right hand. "That's my fault. I'm sorry. For not tell you more about this before."

With a deep breath, Simmons pushed his meal aside so there was nothing between them. "I know that the stories we tell about Blood Gulch make it sound like it was all action. But, it really wasn't. There was a lot of standing around and doing nothing, and a lot of time in between shit just- happening. Including this.

"We'd been in Blood Gulch for a while and nothing was happening. Just two teams stuck on opposite sides of a box canyon. Useless and doing nothing. But, even we couldn't avoid Project Freelancer's machinations. Eventually, Tex showed up and things started happening."

Simmons fell silent as he remembered the last time of true peace he'd known since joining the army. "Eventually, that big moment happened. The Blues attacked. They weren't trying to hurt or kill us, there was A.I. drama happening, but we were still using weapons. Tanks. And Grif got hurt. Sarge had some partially-made cybernetic limbs on hand because- well, because it was Sarge. And that's what he does. And what he'd built wouldn't fit Grif. So instead, we talked- argued- and eventually, we did the surgery. I got robotic parts and Grif got parts of me. And we both lived.

"It took a long before Sarge could hook up my limbs," he noted, eyes distant as his memory drifted back. "The internal stuff he could plug in right away, but to work right, my limbs needed time to heal. And that time felt like forever. It was all _so hard_. I couldn't do anything on my own anymore. Everything hurt. Breathing, bathing, eating. It was awful. But Grif lived. So it was worth it."

Clenching, then relaxing his prosthetic hand, Simmons traced the familiar lines of exposed wires and sheet metal. "I don't want you to think of this as some kind of contest. It's not a matter of weighing who has it worse or harder. It's all hard. And it all sucks so much."

Reaching across the desk, Simmons laid his metallic hand on top of Jensen's. "You are going to get better. You will be able to help us, and Chorus, whether or not you get a replacement arm. And I know that it doesn't seem that way at all right now. But it's true. I promise. You'll get through this. And you'll still you _you_ in the end."

Sniffling, Jensen nodded. Tears ran uninhibited down her face. "Thank- thank you, Captain Simmons," she finally stuttered. "I'm sorry I'm- I'm such a mess right now."

"You're really not," Simmons corrected her with a small smile. "You're ridiculously together and on top of things, especially compared to where I was at this point back in Blood Gulch."

An involuntary giggle slipped out before she could stop it, and the two soldiers shared a moment of perfect understanding. Instead of being an escape from the harrowing press of bodies it had been earlier, the small office felt cozy and safe. A place just for them.

Simmons grabbed his MRE and pulled it back to him, ready to dig in once more. And Jensen did the same.

It was going to be okay.


	7. Chapter 7

Jensen stared at the storage crate with a cool, confident gaze. Clenching her jaw, she took a deep breath through her nose, then exhaled slowly. She could do this.

As she knelt down in front of the box, her hand moved to the black strap around her forearm. Long, dexterous fingers yanked at a ratcheting plastic strap attached to a black arm band, tightening it further around the stump before double-checking that the metal loop affixed to the outside of the band sat precisely where she wanted it. A tough carabiner had been secured to the loop, connecting her stump to a metal chain inside a short tube, all of which ended in another carabiner.

She noticed that the handholds on all the small and medium size crates the UNSC used to slowly dole out supplies to the small planet at built-in handholds - and it hadn't taken long to figure out how she might be able to take advantage of this.

The result of her mechanical musings was attached to her amputated arm and had undergone thorough testing and modifications with Matthews eager assistance during PT. She knew her mechanical aid could take the weight of the box before her. The only untested factor now was… herself.

Taking another deep breath, Jensen grabbed the dangling carabiner and latched it onto the box's handhold. Then, after grabbing the other hold, she slowly began to stand. After over half a dozen sessions of physical therapy, she had relearned the proper motion: she focused first on her legs, engaging her quadriceps and letting the powerful muscles take the strain. Her calves burned slightly as she rose, exhaling slowly. Her core, stronger than ever before, helped her to straighten up out of the crouch. Meanwhile, the strap around her arm sat snug and secure, squeezing tight through the layers of arm socks protecting the stump.

She'd done it.

 _She'd done it!_

For the first time in two months, Jensen grinned, a big, happy grin full of genuine joy. The box, more MREs from the UNSC, held rock steady in her hand and stump attachment, hovered right in front of her hips. There was a new spring in her step as she strode forward, carrying the box from the pallet it had been delivered on and to the storage room where they kept their (now overflowing) supply of emergency rations.

Pausing at the door, she braced the box against the wall with her leg and grabbed the scanner hanging on the wall. After zapping the barcode printed on the box, she took proper hold of the box again and hurried into the storage room. Adding it to the towering pile of MRE cases, it only took a moment to unhook her carabiner.

One box moved. Just a few left.

Jensen quickly found a rhythm to the work, hooking and unhooking her stump attachment with greater ease the more boxes she moved. And when she was done, it seemed as though hardly any time at all had passed. And while her remaining hand ached from gripping at the boxes, there was only a minor amount of soreness in her stump to indicate the wear and tear she'd inflicted on herself with her manual labor.

'I'll have to be extra careful when checking for blisters,' she mused as she reached up to loosen the strap. Even with the extra arm socks, there was a good chance there'd been some pinching or rubbing.

But she'd done it. She'd really done it! She'd cleared- she paused to count- _twenty-seven boxes_.

She couldn't stop grinning, even as she locked the moving dolly back into place to return the now-empty pallet to the loading bay.

Maybe she wasn't fixing Warthogs or Pelican transport ships. But she'd unloaded an entire supply pallet _all by herself_.

Captain Simmons had been right. She was getting better, even without a new arm. She was getting better and she could still help.

With the chain attachment rattling as it hung from her arm strap, Jensen had a small spring in her step as she pushed the dolly back to the loading bay. Jess ran up to her just as she was getting ready to pick up another set of crates.

"I didn't mean to flake out on you, I swear," Jess panted as she raced up to her.

Jensen stepped to the side, out of the flow of traffic, with clear amusement on her face. "What was it this time?" she teased. "More make-up discussions with Donut? Or did you get distracted by Captain Simmons and Grif arguing again?"

"How did you know they were arguing?" Jess demanded, a faint flash of color spreading across her cheeks.

"They're always arguing!" Glancing around, Jensen leaned in. "What was it this time? Was it good?"

"The old _Star Wars_ versus _Star Trek_ argument again." Jess sighed happily, then dramatically fluttered her eyelashes. "If I can find someone who gets as passionate about me as Captain Grif does about _Star Wars_ , I'll be set for life." The overly dramatic moment melted away as she was overcome with giggles. "He starting bringing in the old televisions serials. Captain Simmons didn't appreciate it."

"Those two are ridiculous," Jensen admitted. "But it's so much fun to listen to them argue!"

"It's definitely more entertaining than anything else going on," Jess agreed.

"Bleh, don't even go there," Jensen groaned. She didn't want to think about what a mess everything was right now.

The UNSC continued to drag its feet, sending only a fraction of what they needed with every shipment. They'd managed to stave off the worst so far, but tensions were starting to run high.

The only positive note right now was that Agent Washington's strike team had successfully brought the wrath of God down on the pirate nest Agent Carolina had located. The fight had been long and difficult, and nearly every soldier he'd tapped for the mission had been injured in one way or another - including himself.

But it had been worth it. Instead of the steady barrage of lightning assaults and cruel traps, the surviving handful of pirates still out in the jungle had confined themselves to the occasional suicide run or had just plain vanished. And with that bleed on their resources finally staunched, they'd had time to start shoring up other areas of concern, such continuing their efforts to break into _The Hand of Merope_ 's fuel supplies and scavenging ruined towns and cities for more supplies to add to their meager collection.

They were overflowing with MREs, though. That seemed to be the one thing the UNSC was willing to send them in bulk. They might all die of disease or step on a landmine, but by god, they'd die well fed.

"Come on," Jensen finally sighed, giving Jess' shoulder a shake. "Let's get back to work."

"You got it," Jess agreed. As Jensen drove their dolly towards the mass of pallets the UNSC had sent, she cast a glance at the black strap wrapped around her amputated arm. "How's your contraption working out?"

"Great so far." Beaming, Jensen swerved slightly, hip-checking Jess with a happy step. "Your stitching is holding up."

"I'm glad to hear it. You only made me redo it six times," Jess shot back.

"We were immersed in the testing phase. Adaptability is key to design."

Snorting, Jess stared out over the odd array of pallets that had been prepped for delivery. "Which one's our's?"

"Pallet 636," Jensen duly reported. "Supposed to be a mix of clothing, boots, and blankets. We're supposed to double-check all the contents while we shelve these in one of the yellow store rooms. Make sure the UNSC didn't send us only left-foot boots or something."

"Is that even possible?"

"Sure, if you don't have Captain Simmons running the logistics show."

"He is quite thorough."

"Remember when he made that one UNSC officer because he didn't have the right forms, the right boxes, or even the right landing spot?"

"Yeah, he was pretty pissed."

"Tell you what," Jensen suggested as they found the pallet. "If there's something wrong with the pallet, I'll call Bitters and make sure Captain Grif is nearby when we go to tell Captain Simmons."

"Ooo, that'll be fun," Jess agreed. Taking the dolly from Jensen, she handedly drove it into the pallet, the long arms sliding neatly into the designated slots on the pallet.

The two women continued to chat as they steered the dolly deeper into the ships, following the yellow lines painted on the floor guiding them towards the remote storage rooms.

There was no one around when they reached the storage rooms, which Jensen quickly unlocked. Holding the door open button for Jess, she waited until her friend had steered the pallet into the room while she grabbed the scanner by the door. Once inside, the door slid shut.

"Yay, inventory," Jess sighed as Jensen passed her the scanner.

"It keeps everything running," Jensen teased as she fished her datapad out of one of the pockets on her cargo pants.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. What's first?"

They made quick work of the small boxes, confirming that the number of shirts (sizes extra-small, small, and extra-extra-large) matched what had been reported. The crates were quickly closed and shelved wherever they fit. Jess, meanwhile, made sure each crate and its location were added to the inventory system. While not the most engaging work, they took pride that they'd never made a single error with their captain's dynamic inventory management system.

"Okay, the big box is supposed to be boots," Jensen noted as they uncovered the large box buried at the bottom of the pallet.

"And inside, we have-"

"A problem if either of you two so much as look at me funny." Jensen's head shot up at the sudden unfamiliar growl.

Jess raised her hands into the air and slowly backed away from the crate.

Instead of boots, a man rose up out of the box, a rifle in his hands. It was pointed straight at Jess. A wild, intense light filled his brown eyes and his black hair was long, unkempt, and matted, matching the scraggly beard hanging from his chin. A pungent, onion-y smell wafted off his unwashed body and quickly filled the room. It made both women want to gag.

"If you fire that in here, the ricochet could kill you," Jensen noted in a nervous voice.

"You think I care about that, girlie?" the man sneered. "I knew what I was in for when crawled into that box. If I die right now, it just means a few more of you Chorus bastards get to live. But taking just the two of you two down with me would be plenty fine," he cackled.

"You're one of the pirates," Jess breathed, staring at the unkempt man with revulsion.

"I'm a mercenary. And you people killed my team." With an angry snarl, he gripped the rifle tighter. "Turn around and put your hands on the walls. Now."

Jensen felt her breath catch in her throat as sweated beaded on her forehead. Her heart was racing so fast she worried it would explode. Staring down the barrel of the pirate's rifle, she felt a wave of fear wash over her bigger and more menacing than any she'd ever faced before. Slowly, she backed further away from the box. The rifle looked _so big_ , so menacing and so dangerous. A small voice in the back of her head tried to scream at her, shouting to _rush him, he isn't expecting it,_ but she couldn't hear it. The memory of the fight at the abandoned farm flashed through her mind and she started to shake.

"I said, turn around!" the man screamed when Jensen found herself frozen in place. He should have looked ridiculous, standing in a box surrounded by boots, but all she could see was the rifle. Infuriated, the pirate rotated slightly, pointing the weapon directly at her.

Jess suddenly flew forward in a blur of motion, her left hand snapping out and grabbing the barrel and shoving it sideways and away from Jensen. At the same time, she slammed the heel of her right hand into his nose, forcing his head back.

With a second blurred motion, she drew her hand back, then slammed a solid punch into his gut. With a rush of exhaled air, the pirate doubled over, stunned. His grip on his rifle loosened, allowing Jess to yank it out of his hands.

With both hands on the rifle, she slammed the butt of the rifle into his solar plexus, knocking him back. Then, finally, she skipped backwards, rifle steady in her hands.

The pirate shook his dazed head, then let out an enraged scream, lunging forward.

The rifle roared, the sound of the shots as loud as a klaxon as she fired in the enclosed space.

There was no ricochet. Each shot hit center mass, and the pirate collapsed over the edge of the box.

Ears ringing, Jensen stared in shock at the dead pirate. Only a few seconds had passed, but it felt like it had been an eternity.

"Check him."

Blinking, Jensen slowly shifted her stare from the pirate to the Jess. She knew Jess had spoken, but her ears- the ringing was so loud, she couldn't understand what she'd said.

The other didn't take her eyes off the body lying slumped over the crate. "Katie, check him," Jess snapped, louder this time.

With a small shake, Jensen realized what Jess wanted and forced herself to move forward. She was cautious as she approached the body, reaching out to jab it, then leap back out of the way.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she got approached once more, this time forcing herself to place her fingers over the artery in the pirate's neck.

Again nothing.

"I- I think you got him," she mumbled, staring in shock at the body.

"Oh, thank god," Jess gasped, lowering the rifle. "We need to check the crate."

"What?"

"We need to check the crate!"

"Right."

Reluctantly, Jensen grabbed the back of the pirate's shirt and started to pulled. Jess quickly slung the rifle onto her shoulder and reached forward to help.

With both of them working, they soon had the body hauled off to the side and out of the way. Then, staring at the box, Jensen shuddered slightly and clambered inside. She had to move, to act. To do something besides stand frozen in fear.

They worked fast, checking each boot, inside and out, for signs of tampering or something hidden inside. They soon had a pile of boots on the opposite side of the room from the body.

As she reached down for the next boot, Jensen froze as her hand hit worked metal. Jerking it back, she grabbed Jess' arm. "There's something in here," she warned her, voice still raised to be heard over the lingering ringing in their ears.

Nodding in understanding, Jess was more careful as they pulled more boots out, clearing the inside of the box. Soon, they uncovered a strange metal contraption that had been buried at the bottom of the box.

Shifting so her shadow didn't fall onto the object, Jensen stared at it, forcing her fear away so she could focus on the mechanical puzzle in front of her.

"Knife," she called out, and almost immediately, the hilt of Jess' combat knife was in her hand.

Wedging the blade into a thin crack in the side, she pried open a panel and found a mess of wires and parts… and a timer.

"It's set to go off in fifteen minutes," she breathed, then added, "Assuming it's not a decoy."

Carefully, she shifted her hold on the knife and used the tip to gently push back the wires so she could see further inside the device. Her blood ran cold at the sight of a familiar canister, and the fear she was struggling to control spiked once more.

Deliberately, taking a deep breath, Jensen pushed away how hard it was to get air through her tight throat and focused on the weapon sitting in front of her. Pulling the knife away, she crouched down onto the bottom of the box to better peer inside.

"I'm going to disarm it," Jensen declared as she sat up, and she was startled to realize that her voice was perfectly level. ""Get in here and help me - I'm going to need your hands."

Eyes wide, Jess nodded, then unslung the rifle from her shoulder and set it down next to the box. Climbing in, she squeezed down next to Jensen.

Jensen felt a flash of grim amusement as she began to direct Jess to _hold this wire, grab that panel, cut here_. It was just like the farmhouse, with Jess acting as her hands and eyes in the missile that had ultimately taken her arm.

Well, she wouldn't make that mistake this time.

Slowly, the crude bomb came apart, and the box was soon filled with disparate components: fake wires, cover panels, the timer, pressure sensors, the detonation switch. Finally, they found themselves down to just the barebones of the device and the biological agent itself, safe and secure in its housing container.

"It that it?" Jess whispered as she stare down at the opaque vial.

"Yeah. I- I think we did it," Jensen realized. Sitting up, she realized her back was aching from sitting hunched over for so long.

"... We could have died," Jess realized. "Two different ways. He could have just shot us. Or- used this."

"We stopped him, though."

"We did. We stopped him." Pushing herself upright, Jess stared back at Jensen with wide eyes. "We stopped him. Both times. Together."

"Oh my god," Jensen breathed. She felt her own eyes going wide as she stared back at Jess. "We almost died."

"But we didn't."

"No we didn't. Oh my god!" she exclaimed.

"We did it!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"We're awesome!" Jess crowed.

"Fuck you, pirate!" Jensen laughed.

"Fuck you! And your shitty ass bomb!"

They were laughing, giggling like children all over again, but with an added layer of hysteria.

"We should get out- out- out of the box," Jensen gasped.

"We're still in the box. Why the fuck are we still in the box?"

"Out!"

"Right, right. Out of the box," Jess agreed.

With shaking limbs, they clambered out of the box.

Jensen let herself collapse onto the pile of rubbery smelling boots, limbs going slack as she stared up at the ceiling. The rubber smell was good, she realized. It was drowning out the putrid smell coming from the pirate.

As Jess eased the lid back onto the box and latched it into place, the door opened with a quiet _whoosh_ and Matthews limped in leaning on his new cane. He was staring at a datapad.

"Hey, the dispatch guy just realized that he gave you the wrong… box…"

Jensen craned her head to look at Matthews as his voice trailed off. His eyes were wide as he stared around the room, looking first at Jensen atop her throne of boots, then to Jess, white-faced and shaking as she leaned on a large box. A rifle lay on the floor nearby. And then, he went rigid when he saw the body lying near the wall.

"We definitely had the wrong box," Jensen proclaimed.

* * *

"I don't understand how he got into the box," Simmons said as he hovered anxiously between Jensen and Volleyball's beds. "Our supply chain is too tight for him to have gotten into it!"

"I doubt the UNSC's supply lines aren't nearly as organized," Kimball countered with a reassuring smile. "Which also means we may finally have the leverage we need to shake loose everything they're refusing to ship us. I expect it won't be long before you'll be needing to scale up your logistics framework."

"That's fi-" Simmons froze. "Wait, what?"

"If the UNSC's supply lines are lax enough that a hostile agent can infiltrate it with a biological weapon, clearly we're going to need to insist on higher standards. And there's no better way to do that then lead by example." There was a hint of smug satisfaction in Kimball's eyes as she gave Simmons' a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Turning her attention to Jensen and Volleyball, Kimball looked them both in the eye. "Ladies, I'm very, very glad you're both alright. What you did took incredible courage and skill. I'm proud of you both. Please, let me know if you need anything at all."

"Thank you, General!" Jensen breathed with wide eyes.

"Yes, ma'am, we will, ma'am," Volleyball added with an equally stunned expression.

"Good. Now get some rest," Kimball replied. "I expect you to see you both on duty first thing tomorrow morning." With a final nod of approval, she turned and left the room.

Moments later, the door opened again, this time admitting Sarge and a large, cloth covered cart. "Just the soldiers I wanted to see!" the old man proclaimed with a smile that showed of a few more teeth than was strictly comfortable. "You're both true Red Army soldiers," he noted with a small nod. "Taking the enemy down with his own weapon, then wrecking his fiendish plot. Why, it reminds me of a few of my own tours of duty."

"Thanks, Colonel," Volleyball quickly interrupted. They'd all learned to derail Sarge's often bizarre ODST stories at the first opportunity. Otherwise, Donut would somehow always hear and jump in with a musical number he would make up on the spot.

"Eh, I'll tell you about it another time," Sarge decided with a dismissive wave. "For now, it's time to check out the prize under curtain number one!"

"What? Sarge! It's not done!" Simmons protested, a wave of terror running through him. What if Jensen didn't like it? What if she didn't want it? He'd had a plan to tell her what he was planning. And this wasn't the plan!

Sarge pushed on, unconcerned with Simmons rapidly growing panic. Without a moment's pause, he gripped the cloth and ripped it away from the cart with a dramatic flourish.

Lying on the cart's surface, only partially completed, was a prosthetic arm. Much like Simmons' parts, it had been assembled from scrap and machine parts. It was similar, yet completely unique at the same time.

"I'm so sorry," Simmons groaned as Jensen stared wide eyed at the cart. "I just- I do most of the maintenance on my own parts- I have all the diagrams, but it turns out building something from scratch is harder than designing something completely new. It's- it's not done, I'm so sorry. I only got started on it after- after dinner that one time? About a month ago?"

"You were making an arm for me?" Jensen asked in quiet surprise.

"He was," Sarge confirmed, clapping an overly firm hand onto his shoulder. "Of course, he doesn't have Lopez's flare for machinery. Or his skill. Or any sort of basic know-how. But by god, he was trying! Naturally, I stepped in. Made a few improvements of my own." Pausing, Sarge gave Jensen a considering look. "As I recall, you've got your own kind of mechanical savvy. Perhaps you'd like to look everything over? I was considering adding a canon, but finding room for a power supply has been an issue. What would you say to having a gigantic fist on this arm?"

Jensen leaned forward in her bed, her irritation with Grey's insistence that she and Jess stay overnight for observation cast aside.

"This was a terrible idea," Simmons muttered, backing away as Jensen started replying to Sarge's suggestions with a few of her own.

"Aw, I think it's sweet," Volleyball teased. Simmons flushed. Laughing, Volleyball scooted forward so she could lean against him.

"It's- it's something, alright. It's-" His eyes went wide. "It's a terrible idea putting them together," he realized.

"Katie's gonna be able to shoot lasers with this thing when it's done!"

"That's not a good thing!"

With a look of horror on his face, Simmons rushed forward, grabbing the cloth and hastily covering the arm up. "Dr. Grey said they should rest," he insisted at the matching noises of disappointment Sarge and Jensen let out. "I'm not going to argue with Dr. Grey!"

"Of course not. That's my job!" Sarge shot Simmons a look layered with a lot of meaning that- that he really didn't want to think about. Then, chuckling, Sarge gently patted Jensen's knee. "Don't you worry, little lady. I'll get things squared away with the doctor. And then onwards! To science!"

"This was a terrible idea," Simmons repeated once the door had shut behind Sarge.

"No, it wasn't," Jensen insisted.

He turned to look at her.

Jensen looked up at him, suddenly shy, and Simmons couldn't help but be reminded of how _young_ she was.

"Thank you, sir. For building me an arm, and for wanting to build me an arm and- and just for caring. For showing me how to live with one arm and-and for telling me I was going to get better." A faint flush spread across her cheeks, pale from years spent living in powered armor.

"I shouldn't be letting Sarge help," he finally said in a rueful voice. "He's going to want to turn your new arm into a swiss army knife."

Laughing, Jensen shook her head. "I don't care. He built your arm, sir. And if he helps with this one, we'll match. And I think that's pretty neat."

"Match?" Almost involuntarily, Simmons raised his hand to his prosthetic arm.

"I made it this far because of you, Captain," Jensen explained, still smiling. "Because you showed me I would be okay."

Simmons felt the heat of a blush spread across his own cheeks, darker and even more prominent that Jensen's. "It's not all fancy punching and breaking rocks," he warned her. "The weight of it's pretty awful. And maintenance is hard even if you take it off and hold it with your feet."

"I'm not worried a bit," Jensen countered. "Because you'll show me the best way to do everything."

"Oh, I bet you'll figure out better methods of doing things," Simmons protested. "You're smarter than I am."

"That's definitely true," Volleyball agreed.

"Jess! Don't say that!"

"What? It _is_ true! He said so himself!"

"That doesn't make it okay!"

As the two women started bickering, Simmons felt a fond smile cross his face. He knew he had work to do and paperwork piling up on his desk. But for right now, he didn't care.

Family was the most important thing there was.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 ** _Once again, go check out Yami-Sama's Tumblr account to see the incredible art she created for this story._**

 ** _This story was possible because of ScriptMedic and my lovely consultants, The Psychologist and The Editor. Thank you so much, ladies!_**

 ** _Find me on Tumblr as IrenkaFeralKitty where I'll be posting some behind-the-scenes reference works I put together for this story._**


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